


Politically in Love

by Plenoptic



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 12:52:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plenoptic/pseuds/Plenoptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To improve intergalactic relations, young Optimus must bond to a femme from the planet Femmax. Out of his many prospect brides, can he find real love and avoid a cold, arranged bond?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Proposition

**Author's Note:**

> Redirected from FFN due to their updated MA content policy. TF AU.

Plenoptic

Femmax is ligit. It's on Wikipedia. I added an 'm' so it pertains more directly to femmes. Anyway. Various pairings on the way. I need to flex my romance skills ^O^

So this one goes out to my good FFN buddy who's just lost her mother recently...her mother held on for a long time, and was so, so strong...the character of Angelbane is dedicated to her.

..........

"I assure you, Lord Prime, this is a sure-fire way to ensure that peace remains between our planet and Femmax."

"Yes, but…" Sentinel Prime trailed off, his optics dimming slightly as he watched the sparring ring below the observation balcony. His eldest son was locked in combat with his oldest mentor, his blue, blue optics alight with excitement. "He's so young…"

"He is full-grown," High Councilor Xeon replied in a quipped tone, arching one optic ridge. "Fully trained, and perfectly capable of forging a sparkbond."

"He doesn't even know this femme."

"Femmax will be a valuable partner in the future," Xeon said stiffly, turning cold optics onto the gleaming golden commander. "Economically, of course, but think about it, milord. A planet full of females, most of whom are ready to bear sparklings."

Sentinel shot a swift look at the councilor, optics narrowing dangerously, a low growl building in his throat. "Councilor, please. That is hardly politically…polite."

"Perhaps not, but it is absolutely accurate," the older mech snorted, waving one hand dismissively. "More and more femmes here on Cybertron are enlisting into military service rather than bearing sparklings. We must keep our species alive, Prime, and if there is a planet with femmes capable of reproduction…well, I see no reason to not forge an alliance with them."

Sentinel lowered his optics, a sick feeling welling up in his spark. Below, Optimus glanced upwards briefly, reaching out to his father before returning his attention to his match. Sentinel reigned in his feelings quickly.

"But he has to bond with her?"

"The High Council has already voted on the matter, Prime. We respectfully request that your son at least court the female."

"Very well," Sentinel rumbled, defeated. "I shall discuss the matter with him, Councilor. That will be all."

"I would like to remind you, Sentinel, that we are not simply putting forth a request. We really must demand that—"

"That will be all, Councilor," Sentinel repeated in a low growl, and after a moment's consideration Xeon decided it best to take his leave. The colossal golden Prime really could be a terror when angered, or so the councilor had heard—Sentinel was more than adept at reigning in his own considerable temper.

That did not mean that Xeon felt like taking any chances.

"Father?"

Sentinel turned his ethereal blue gaze from Xeon's rapidly retreating back to instead smile upon his eldest son as the young mech came up the stairs to the observation deck.

"Optimus. Done already?"

"Scavenger pled boredom," Optimus sighed, stretching his already aching frame. "I'm not surprised, I suppose. But, Father—you look troubled."

"Oh. Do I? I can't imagine why…"

"Father…" Optimus trailed off, blue optics apprehensively watching Councilor Xeon as the mech turned a corner at the far end of the hallway and disappeared.

Sentinel sighed, rubbing the back of his helm. His son was too perceptive for his own good. "I wish I could tell you that you don't need to worry, Optimus. The Council has gone too far this time…"

"Tell me," Optimus requested quietly, stepping closer and looking up earnestly at the mech he respected and adored more than any other. "What troubles you, Father?"

"…You have heard of Femmax, my son?"

"Of course. It is…a topic frequented in the recreation room," Optimus admitted bashfully, and Sentinel momentarily rolled his optics upward. Mechs. Sometimes his own breed disgusted him. "It is a planet dominated by femmes, yes?"

"Essentially. Mechs are present there, but they are used largely for reproductive purposes. It is a rather skewed culture, Optimus. Mechs may be the more dominant mechanisms here on Cybertron, but our dominance is not comparable to that of the females on Femmax. Come, we shall go to the wash racks," he added, taking note of the condensation and coolants almost dripping from his son's frame. "Your mother will have my head if I let you rust."

Optimus laughed lightly, falling into step beside his father as they departed the arena, making for the shower stalls nearby. Sentinel's pace was brisk, quipped as it always was. He was that sort of mech, always seeming to have a destination, a plan, something that needed his attention. It was an admirable quality for a leader to have, but sometimes Optimus couldn't help but wonder if his father was ever really consciously existing in the present. Some would call Sentinel determined; Optimus thought of him as more absent-minded. Sentinel was a Prime, after all—he'd seen worlds and memories most mechs couldn't even begin to compute. Sentinel had seen a grander side of the universe, and sometimes it seemed to Optimus that his father was mentally reaching out to that other side, that more incredible place…

Sentinel stood off to the side of the room, meticulously rooting through the shelf full of towels while Optimus stepped into a nearby stall, heating the cleaning solvent to his liking and immersing his frame in the warm fluid.

"What issue with Femmax do I need to consider, sir?" Optimus questioned after a moment when Sentinel's silence persisted.

"You are aware that our reproductive rate has gone down, yes?"

"Mother has told me about it. There are so many femmes coming forth to combat the rebel movement that there are less family units being formed, is that so?"

"That is the most probable cause, yes," Sentinel sighed, leaning against the wall and watching the steam climbing its way upwards. It came into contact with the ceiling and drifted lazily out towards the walls, having no where else to go. "Optimus…how do you feel about sparkbonding?"

Optimus peeked around the edge of the stall, checking his father's expression carefully before answering. "It is appealing to me. You and Mother seem so close. I'd like to find a sparkmate, someday."

"Someone you care about."

"Yes."

Sentinel hung his head, inspecting his own feet intently. His son was silent, and the Lord Prime was not surprised. Optimus was incredibly intelligent. The interference of a councilor, the mentions of Femmax, talk of a sparkmate…his sharp processor was undoubtedly already putting together the pieces.

"…How would it benefit Cybertron, sir?"

"…Xeon and his cohorts in the Council…seem to believe that it will benefit it us economically as well as…well. They are concerned with our lack of family units, and therefore our lack of sparklings."

"So they believe that if I were to bond to a Femmaxian royal, femmes would flock to Cybertron in droves and bond with our mechs left and right?"

"They do not always think these things through, Optimus. I'm infuriated that you've been dragged into their ridiculous schemes this time. We have allies within the Council, do not forget, I'm sure we can make them see reason."

"…But…but the Council really might be correct, Father," Optimus intoned, coming out of the stall and gratefully accepting the towel his sire extended to him. "The Femmaxians were once Cybertronians, were they not? It is my understanding that they left Cybertron when Lord Nova imposed stricter controls on the femme population."

"You are correct. They are indeed our sisters."

"Then perhaps it would not be so bad to form an alliance with them. They are a part of us, and we a part of them."

"I would like to see our cultures allied once more, but not at the cost of your spark," Sentinel growled. "I want you to find your sparkmate. I want you to find someone who will support you as your mother does me. An arranged sparkbond is an archaic and altogether primitive means of negotiation. I do not wish for my son to pay this price."

"There are plenty of Femmaxian royals, Father," Optimus reminded his sire gently, rubbing the towel absently over his armor. "Who knows? Perhaps my sparkmate is even among them…"

...........

"FRAG NO!"

"…I had a feeling you'd say that."

"I ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT!"

"Lita, dear, try to be reasonable…"

"I'M NOT THE ONE BEING UNREASONABLE!"

"Maybe I ought to talk to her," Arcee suggested, tilting her graceful pink helm upwards to blink innocently at her mother. "I'll calm her down, at least, and then she'll be able to think clearly."

"You may be right," Lady Sephirium agreed, grimacing when her eldest daughter kicked out at a chair in frustration. "I'll leave it to you, then, dearspark…but do be careful, you know how she gets…"

"I'll be fine," Arcee said cheerfully, permitting her mother to lovingly kiss her cheek before striding fully into the room and closing the door behind her. "Hey, Elita, tell me when you're ready to calm down, okay?"

"I AM CALM!"

Arcee arched one optic ridge, putting her hands behind her back and quietly inspecting a piece of artwork hanging on the wall. Elita scowled out the window for a moment before releasing a long groan, throwing herself onto her berth and glaring up at the ceiling.

"I knew this was going to happen eventually," she grumbled, rolling onto her side and curling herself up. "I knew it! Frag it all to Pit, what's so great about making an alliance with that chauvinistic planet anyway?"

"Cybertron has more military might than five of our planets put together, and then some," Arcee responded easily. "And we have an economy and resources that they could only dream of. It's quite logical, really." She glanced sideways at the berth, optics dimming at the sight of her sister's distress. She padded across the small expanse of the room and sank down at Elita's side, reaching out to pet her sister's helm gently. "Don't worry, Lita. There are lots of noble daughters for this mech to choose from. All you have to do is go to Cybertron and enjoy his hospitality while he flirts around with some other femme."

"Easy for you to say, Arcee," Elita sighed heavily. "You don't have to come."

"Just because I'm too young to be courted doesn't mean I won't be going. You'll need someone to keep you under control, and besides, I want to meet a cute mech who'll give me my first kiss."

"Of course you do," Elita snorted, sitting up reluctantly and smiling at her little sister. "How is it that you're so much more mature than I am, Arcee?"

"You're just overstressed," Arcee responded simply. "It might be nice to go and have a handsome mech fawn over you for a few orns."

"I always have handsome mechs fawning over me. Mother hires them to do just that."

"Yes, but this one won't be just a servant," Arcee reminded her, a sly smile crossing her cute faceplates. "He'll be passionate and independent and strong…it'll be like a forbidden erotica novel."

"…I told you to quit reading those."

"You still throw tantrums like a sparkling. Pit take me if I ever do what you tell me to," Arcee giggled, getting up and returning to the piece of artwork. "Anyway. We'll take Chromia with us too, just in case the mechs get a little grabby. She'll put them in their place."

"Flat on their backs beneath her?"

Arcee laughed openly, and Elita couldn't help but to smile. Chromia wasn't the only femme who got an odd rush from completely dominating the larger and stronger mechs, but that didn't make her any less fun to tease.

"It really might be nice," Arcee continued, practically gushing now. "I heard Cybertron's mechs aren't like ours. And their princes must be so handsome."

"Based on what?"

"Well, they are princes, after all."

"Oh, Primus," Elita groaned, and promptly flopped back down again. "You're hopeless, Arcee."

"Well, excuse me for being a little hopeful. And look on the bright side of things, Elita. There's a good chance he won't even choose you. So you can just go, smile at the mech, be as uninteresting as possible so he ignores you, and enjoy Cybertron and experience a new planet. How many times have we even gotten to leave the palace?"

"Not many," Elita admitted. "Perhaps you're right. He's got plenty of femmes to choose from…"

"Exactly!"

"…And I've never even seen pictures of Cybertron…"

"Precisely!"

"…Alright, it could be interesting, at least," Elita acquiesced grudgingly. "And if you and Chromia will be there, it might even be fun."

"It'll be a blast," Arcee said breathlessly, and for the next joor, Elita couldn't get her little sister to shut up.

...............

The docking bay had never been more tense.

Sentinel Prime, aglow in his handsome golden armor, stood at the side of his quietly beautiful sparkmate, Angelbane. Optimus hovered just behind his creators, cobalt blue optics anxiously scanning the dark, starry sky periodically.

"Peace, Optimus," Angelbane murmured wisely, reaching over to place a small hand on her eldest son's forearm. "They'll arrive when they arrive."

"They're a little behind schedule," Optimus worried, frowning deeply. "You don't suppose something went wrong? Maybe they were attacked by pirates? Or an engine was damaged?"

"You worry far too much for your own good, Optimus," Sentinel rumbled quietly. Optimus conceded the point, falling silent, and Sentinel took to scanning the rest of the docking bay. All thirteen High Councilors were present to greet their galactic neighbors, as well as no small amount of Sentinel's personal staff and soldiers, all eager to get a glimpse at the fabled Femmaxians.

"Where's Soundwave?" Angelbane wondered aloud, peering around her mate's massive frame to look towards the entrance to the hangar. "He was supposed to be along with Megatron…"

"Soundwave will come when he's good and ready, and no sooner," Sentinel replied good-naturedly, placing one gigantic hand on his sparkmate's waist. "You're acting as jittery as Optimus, dear."

"I don't feel right about that monotous semi-drone watching my son," Angelbane replied dryly, and Sentinel smiled, bemused.

"Soundwave is simply spoken, love, but he adores Megatron. They are the best of friends, even with their age difference. I trust him with Megatron implicitly, and as you trust me, you should trust Soundwave as well."

"…Hmm." Optimus thought his mother's growl was still irate, but Sentinel seemed to take it as a concession, for he removed his hand from her waist to tuck both hands behind his back and look patiently up at the sky.

"They're sure taking their sweet time."

The little family all turned at the gruff, familiar voice, and Sentinel couldn't bite down a smile as he watched his two oldest and most faithful friends joining the trio.

"Ratchet, Ironhide. I'm glad you could come."

"Hah. Why wouldn't I? I'd never pass up an opportunity to see a whole shipload of femmes come in just to meet our little upstart," Ironhide retorted, glaring at Optimus with a sort of fierce pride. Optimus blushed and took to fidgeting, muttering something incoherently. He liked Ironhide, but the mech could be so intimidating.

"The Femmaxians do have mech servants and such, yes?" Angelbane inquired, blinking up at her mate, but it was Ratchet who answered.

"Yes—the males are used exclusively for labor and for reproductive purposes, but I believe the more important families have mechs to wait upon them. Perhaps we ought to 'liberate' a few during their stay, eh?"

Ironhide smirked. "What mech in his right mind would want to be 'liberated' from a planet crawling with femmes?"

Optimus made a face; being a sexual slave and then spending all of his spare time in hard labor definitely qualified as being in need of liberation in his books. And it certainly couldn't be any less of a paradise. "Doesn't sound like much fun to me."

"Of course it doesn't," Ironhide snorted. "You wouldn't know what to do with a femme if she was in protoform and prostrating herself in front—"

"Ironhide!" Angelbane snapped, sky blue optics blazing up at the titanic black mech.

"Aw, come on, Angel," Ironhide said meekly, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "He's not a sparkling anymore…"

"He's my sparkling!"

"Mother…"

"Megatron," Sentinel said brightly, and Angelbane and Optimus turned to see the immense, navy blue form of Soundwave trooping towards them with a silver youngling marching in front of him.

"There you are," Angelbane sighed, moving forward to pull her little mech in close. Megatron whined and squirmed when she kissed his helm. "I asked you to have him back a few breems ago, Soundwave!"

"Apologies," Soundwave said in his trademark monotonous tone. "The young master was insistent upon finishing his game."

"I beat level sixteen," Megatron remarked, arching an optic ridge at his older brother. "What level have you gotten to?"

"Twenty-four," Optimus replied smugly, smirking at his baby brother. "But nice try."

Megatron scowled, wriggling out of his mother's arms to stand instead between his father and brother, puffing his chest up importantly and staring up at the sky as they were. A long silence passed before he spoke again.

"So…what are we looking for?"

"We're waiting for the Femmaxians to arrive," Sentinel responded, looking down at his youngest son, his optics aglow with affection.

"Why?"

"We want to make peace with them," Optimus explained, dropping his optics as well when his brother looked up at him. "The Femmaxians have a number of resources that we could benefit from, as well as rich and interesting culture that we are eager to know more about. We can help them as well, so we seek a partnership that would be mutually beneficial to both worlds."

"Huh." Megatron wrinkled his noseplates, peering back up at the luminous sky. "When do they get here?"

"Any breem now. If you're tired, you may go rest, Megatron. Your presence is not required diplomatically."

"I'm a Cybertronian prince," Megatron huffed importantly, lifting his head proudly. "I'm every bit as important as you, Opt."

Optimus smiled, reaching a hand down to gently pat his little brother's head. "Of course you are."

The docking bay filled slowly as another breem passed, and yet another, and another. Megatron sat after the first two, heaving a long yawn on the first, prompting his father to lift his youngling into his arms and allow the little mech to fall asleep against his shoulder.

"Couldn't I take him up to our quarters?" Angelbane requested softly, stroking her son's helm with gentle fingertips.

"You are Cybertron's empress, dear," Sentinel responded, his voice low and rich. "It would not be politically polite for you to not be here when our guests arrive…"

"Hey," Ironhide cut in suddenly, pointing his scarred and grizzled faceplate up to the sky, his good optic squinting slightly. "You hear something?"

The others paused, all falling silent to listen for whatever it was Ironhide had detected. After a moment, Optimus sighed and shook his head slightly. Not another astrosecond later, the others heard the soft reverberations of a space bridge opening. All at once, a tear seemed to open in the sky itself, revealing the dark, swirling mass of anti-space within; the sky lit up as a single shuttle exited the bridge, and the surrounding darkness sewed itself up once more.

For a moment Sentinel entertained the possibility that the Femmaxians had finally arrived, but this hope was quickly doused when an excited shout echoed from the shuttle.

"Yeeeeeeeeee-HAAAAAAWWWW!"

"Frag," Ironhide growled, but fell silent at a glare from Angelbane, who pointed an indignant finger at her sleeping son.

"Optimus," Sentinel intoned quietly, "you did tell Jetfire how very important this is, didn't you?"

"I told him," Optimus answered, his mouth set into a grim line. "Although, I think he stopped listening once the word 'Femmax' came up. I did try to avoid it, but he was bound to find out eventually."

"So what did you tell him?"

"That some very influential and potentially life-altering political delegates were arriving from a far-off planet…and that that planet just might be inhabited almost entirely by femmes…"

"Oh, dear," Sentinel sighed, opening his comm. link. "Jetfire, report."

: Jetfire reporting in, Boss. :

"As impressive as your flight capabilities are, Jetfire, I really must request that you land—carefully—and wait patiently with the rest of us. Your enthusiasm is appreciated, but…we really do want to make a good impression."

: Oh. Right. Copy that, Boss. Landing now. :

The shuttle gained some altitude one last time before dropping into a steep dive, pulling up within mere feet of the ground. Jetfire transformed on the run, his immense form folding out from his sleek shuttle mode so that he hit the ground running. He yelped as his momentum carried him forward, pinwheeling his arms backwards wildly to slow himself down before skidding to a wild stop mere inches from the royal family.

"…Landing successful, Commander," he said brightly, snapping one hand up into a chipper salute.

"Glad to see it, Jetfire," Sentinel replied, heaving a long, relieved sigh. "Please, no more antics like that tonight. I really can't stress how important this alliance is."

"I understand, sir," Jetfire said, bobbing his head up and down, earnest golden optics blinking quickly just over the rim of his mask. "Political mumbo-jumbo and whatnot, I'm all over this, Boss. And hey, Optimus, you're looking kinda jittery," he added, cocking his head at his best friend and classmate.

Sentinel glanced at his heir and son, arching an optic ridge, to which Optimus only shrugged weakly. He hadn't even attempted to explain to his friend that he was to be bonded to one of the femmes arriving from Femmax—the knowledge that his buddy would no longer be a bachelor probably would have fried Jet's processor.

"Oh!" Angelbane yelped suddenly, pointing towards the approximate location where Jetfire had come out of warp. "Look! That—is that them?"

All heads snapped upwards instantly, and a great cheer rose from a few onlookers at the sight of a ship pulling out of transwarp drive, gearing down as it reentered normal space. It was a beauty of a vessel, long, cylindrical, pearly white, three swept-back engines propelling it from the rear.

"Whoa," Jetfire intoned, clearly in awe. "It's awesome…"

Optimus could only nod dumbly, awe-struck himself. He'd never seen a ship like that. Cybertronian vessels were bulky, thick, heavily armored, built for combat, not leisurely space travel, and very few had a femme's aesthetic touch. It was truly a sight to see.

The young mech was startled out of his reverie by his father's hand on his shoulder; looking up, he nodded nervously as he met his mech creator's confident blue optics. He turned his gaze forward, tightening his jaw as the ship coasted in for a graceful landing, guided by several docking guards. His sparkmate was on that ship somewhere. His sparkmate, whether he liked it or not.

The royal family moved forward once the ship was docked, followed closely by the slightly wary Councilors and flanked by the formidable force of Jetfire, Ironhide, Ratchet, and Soundwave. Jet planted himself at Optimus's right side as the procession stopped, folding his arms over his chest and holding his wings high. Though he'd never been assigned the position officially, he'd taken it upon himself to be Optimus's bodyguard of sorts, ever fiercely loyal to his future Prime and commander. Ironhide and Ratchet took up similar positions near Sentinel and Angelbane, quietly guarding the Prime and his empress from any threat awaiting them on the white ship.

As the ship powered down, the whole hangar seemed to hold its breath. Sentinel tightened his grip on his eldest son's shoulder, blue eyes darkening, intensifying. Angelbane took her youngest son from her mate's arms, hushing him gently when he stirred. Optimus felt Jetfire's hand close over his free shoulder, and he swallowed nervously.

"Hey, man, relax," Jetfire breathed, cracking a nervous grin. "This is all good."

"Then stop denting my shoulder."

"Relax," Jetfire repeated firmly. "Count on me."

Optimus nodded mutely, trying to make his intakes work properly. He had to make a good impression. He had to get at least one of these femmes to bond with him. He simply couldn't afford to make such a huge blunder as mess up relations with Femmax so early in his career. The trust of the Council—and of Cybertron, for that matter—was on the line. And he'd need the Council and the people behind him when he ascended the position as Prime. One of these femmes…one of these femmes had to be willing to bond with him…

A seam split in the anterior lower portion of the ship, revealing a small door that would hardly allow a mech of Sentinel's size. A ramp extended to touch lightly upon the floor of the hangar, and then, all at once, there were femmes.

A procession of five, then three, and then five again filed out. The first and last rows were obviously bodyguards; the femmes were almost as tall as Optimus, bore heavy armor and guns slung over their backs. The middle row was completely obscured.

Optimus felt himself tugged from Jetfire's ironclad grip as his father suddenly strode forward, all but dragging his dumb-struck son behind him. Optimus found his feet quickly, straightening his back and lifting his head, drawing his shoulders back, mimicking his father's confident posture. The front row of femmes peeled away to reveal what Optimus could only assume was the royal family of Femmax.

"Lady Sephirium," Sentinel said warmly, dropping to one knee to gently kiss the Empress's delicate hand as she extended it. "I can't even begin to express how much of an honor it is. Please consider Cybertron your home away from home, and us your humble hosts." Optimus caught his father's sidelong glance and hurriedly dropped to one knee, crossing one arm over his chest and dipping his head. Frag. He should have been the first to be on the floor—long before his father and any case. Strike one.

"Rise, Lord Prime," Sephirium requested softly, and her lyrical voice sent Optimus's circuits on end. He'd never heard a voice like that before. "We are of equal stature, are we not? You needn't bow to me. Nor should you, young prince," she added tactfully, and Optimus lifted his head to see his father already standing. He rose slowly, cautiously, struggling to remember if it was polite to make optic contact or not.

"You look nervous," the Empress's accompanying mech spoke up, stepping forward to stand just behind the femme. "Are we so intimidating, Prince?"

"I—um—n-no, not at all," Optimus said, cursing his trembling voice. "I…please, excuse my inexperience. I've met very few foreign delegates. Um, but, I…I'm very honored to be playing host to our sister planet."

Optimus thought he caught an involuntary twitch from his father and felt his tanks plummet. He'd said something wrong? Already? Why hadn't he just kept his stupid mouthplates shut?! But all at once Sentinel relaxed again and carried on with the introductions. The femme named Sephirium was Femmax's empress, the esteemed ruler and protector; the navy-black mech behind her was Baron, her mate; the tiny pink femme who hovered behind them was their youngest daughter and Princess, Arcee.

"I was under the impression that Femmax had been blessed with two Princesses, milady," Sentinel noted, cocking his head. "Was I misinformed?"

"No, not at all," Sephirium replied, laughing lightly. "Our other daughter is traveling with the young Lord's other suitors—she thought that she would be given an unfair advantage in the battle for his affections if he knew she was the Princess and the heir to my throne."

Optimus blushed darkly, wanting to sink into the floor and disappear. He wished he could tell the Empress that he didn't want anything to do with the Princess or the 'suitors,' but that, obviously, would not have made the Council too pleased. He held his glossa and forced a smile.

Angelbane stepped up and introduced herself, along with the drowsy young prince in her arms; within a breem, Megatron had been given back to Soundwave to be taken up to bed and the entire procession—lords, ladies, bodyguards, and stumbling, nervous prince alike—were making their way steadily to the upper floor and the grand hall.

"Not so bad, eh?" Jetfire intoned, catching up to his friend's side and nudging him lightly. "That Arcee is a cutie."

"She's not available, Jet," Optimus replied, wishing desperately that his knees would stop shaking. "Listen, I'll talk to you in a bit, okay? I need to ask Father something…"

Jet nodded obligingly and dropped back, allowing Optimus to weasel his way to the front of the procession and take the side of his father that was not already occupied by the chattering Empress. Waiting until his mother distracted Sephirium for a moment, Optimus leaned into his father to ask the question that had been plaguing him, but his father answered before Optimus had scarcely opened his mouthplates.

"No, Optimus, I do not believe there was anything wrong with your greeting," Sentinel said swiftly, smiling down at his startled son. "It was very humble, very cordial, very polite. You did very well. I was merely concerned with your reference to Femmax being our 'sister' planet; you have to remember that the Femmaxians think of mechs as lustful barbarians. I wasn't sure the Empress would take kindly to the comparison. But she didn't seem at all fazed, so you're in the clear."

"Thank Primus," Optimus sighed, feeling his spark unclench. "I was afraid I'd messed up already…"

"Hardly. You're doing well, my son. I really couldn't ask more of you. I'm already asking so much," he added glumly, his optics darkening.

"No, Father, not at all," Optimus said quickly, forcing some conviction into his voice. Trying to sound brave. "This is a service I can do Cybertron. That I can be of help to the planet before I'm even Prime…I'm proud to be doing this. When shall the other femmes arrive?"

"Late tonight. You do not have to be awake to greet them, in fact, you shouldn't. Best that you see them tomorrow morning when you are rested and have had some time to learn a bit more about the culture. Doubtless, the ladies will be tired as well. They may be dismayed if you were to see them in their disheveled state."

Optimus couldn't help but to laugh, feeling his tension ebbing away quickly. Yes, his father was right. He'd be humble and polite, learn what he could of the culture, and tomorrow he could begin searching for his bride. He had some time to relax.

The grand hall was brightly lit, lively music playing from the large speakers in the corners and mounted on the walls, and the huge dining table had been stacked with a dizzying array of premium energon, oils, pastries, treats from Iacon's finest stores. The head of the table was seated for two; Sentinel and Sephirium sat here, with their mates at their sides. Though Optimus had planned to sit with his mother, he found himself somehow seated by Baron, with the very shy Arcee on his other side.

He was a little nervous at first, but he took a liking to Baron almost instantly; he reminded Optimus of a friendlier Ironhide. The huge mech was blunt, to the point and brutally honest, but he was also amiable and talkative; his optics spoke volumes of his joy and enthusiasm.

"Really can't tell you how excited we are to be here—Optimus, am I correct? I could call you Prince, of course, if you'd like, don't mean to be impolite—"

"I prefer Optimus," said mech assured him quickly, smiling. "We're thrilled to have you. I've been studying, but I still feel that I know so little of Femmaxian culture. I hope to learn a lot."

"As do I, son, as do I," Baron agreed heartily, helping himself to an energon treat. "Are the blue ones any good?"

"The best. Megatron loves them."

"Cee was ecstatic when she learned she would be coming with us," Baron went on, loading his plate generously. "She's got such a fascination for other cultures. Our other daughter—I'm withholding her name, you know, for pre-mentioned reasons—was a little less excited. She's a free spirit, that one, not too keen on settling down, especially with a mech she's just met."

Rather than being offended, Optimus found himself greatly relieved by this blatantly rude (in political terms, anyway) statement.

"I'm a little apprehensive myself," he admitted slowly, gauging his choice of words carefully. "I hadn't even thought of sparkbonding when the Council came forward with this proposition. But at the same time, it's an incredible opportunity."

"No need to be polite about it," Baron chuckled. "These arranged affairs are the worst kind of business. No one should bond for political reasons. You should bond for love, you see. That's the key to happiness. But such are the curses of the privileged. All you can do is make the best of the lot you're dealt, yes?"

"Yes," Optimus agreed, feeling much lighter with that confession off his chest. "I'm eager to meet your daughter. You insist that you can't tell me her name?"

"Oh, no," Baron chuckled. "Sephirium twisted it a bit. My little one has determined that you'd choose her immediately if you knew she's the princess, so she threatened me with various unpleasant treatments if I let her identity slip. That goes for you too, Arcee," he added purposefully, leaning forward to point a finger at his youngest daughter, who winced and blushed. "No giving Optimus here any hints!"

Laughing heartily, Baron joined Sephirium and Sentinel's conversation, leaving a rather awkward silence hanging between Optimus and Arcee.

"So…er…how old are you?" Optimus inquired kindly, smiling down at the little femme.

"Too young for you," she deadpanned, and reached for an energon goodie, leaving Optimus in shock. He'd thought she was shy, but it turned out she was just as blunt and practical as her father.

"Thank Primus for that," he laughed nervously. "You seem too tough for me."

"Hmph. Are you calling me a mech?"

"No, not at all! Of course not! There isn't a mech in the universe with a face that pretty…"

"…It's kinda creepy that you're hitting on a kid," she said stiffly, casting him a flat glare before popping in an energon goodie.

Optimus resisted the urge to dunk his face into his energon. He was making a bigger idiot of himself with this kid than he'd even come close to doing with Baron.

"What's your sister like?" he asked after a moment, and for the first time she seemed to consider him before answering.

"She's too good for you," Arcee decided, tapping her chin with a finger. "But she's beautiful and strong-willed and smart. Of course, she'll probably put on an act so you don't choose her. So it doesn't really matter."

"I wish she wouldn't," Optimus sighed, sitting back in his seat. "She sounds lovely."

"I'll hurt you if you choose her," Arcee warned him. He frowned.

"Why's that?"

"If you choose her, she'll have to come stay on this awful planet, and she'll have to live in this dreary building, and I'll never get to see her," Arcee said bluntly, scowling into her energon.

"…Why would you say that?"

Arcee looked up, startled by his sudden change in tone. Optimus looked different. He wasn't glaring by any means, but he didn't look at all happy. More…frustrated.

"Cybertron is an incredible planet," he went on, tightening his hands into fists and looking down at his plate. "It has sights and places that would take your breath away in a nanosecond. It's beautiful and majestic. I love it. I love it. That's why I'm going through with this arranged mating. For the good of my planet."

Arcee blinked at him before looking down at her own plate, making a soft, thoughtful humming noise, considering his words. "Alright," she acquiesced after a moment. "I'm sorry, that was pretty rude of me. This is all pretty new and scary for me, too. You love your planet a lot. That's pretty admirable. It just looked so gray from space."

"All you can see from space are the uppermost levels of the cities, the business and political districts," Optimus explained, toying with his energon pastries. "I'll take you on a tour while you're here. I'll show you the Helix and Crystal Gardens in Praxus—my friend Prowl was born there. And the Acidic Sea, and the Hall of the Primes, where my ancestors are honored."

"Huh. It sounds interesting. Alright, Optimus, I'll go with you. If you give me that," she put in, pointing to his pastry.

"What? There's a whole plate right there."

"I want one of yours. You want to be my friend, right?" she said cheekily, grinning at him. "No sacrifice, no victory."

He stared at her for a moment before breaking into laughter. "That's pretty wise for a kid. Where'd you hear that?"

"This old mech named Alpha Trion is always saying that."

"Trion?" Optimus said in surprise, handing over the pastry and watching as she delved into it. "You know Trion?"

"Yeah. He's my sister's tutor. Why? You know him too?" she inquired around a mouthful of pastry, licking her fingertips.

"I do. He's my father's old friend. When I was born, my spark was very weak. If it weren't for Trion's therapy, I wouldn't be alive."

"That's pretty cool," Arcee replied, finishing off the pastry in one monstrous bite. "I guess he goes back and forth between planets. That guy is really smart, 'specially for a mech."

Shrugging off that last comment, Optimus wiled away the rest of the evening with the little femme. They were fast friends by the end of the banquet. Her jabs and barbs at his gender and ego didn't cease, but she made him promise to seek her out tomorrow morning so they could discuss his prospect brides. He agreed happily; he rather liked the fiery little femme, sharp glossa and all.

Optimus slipped into recharge in his family's huge living complex feeling much better than he'd anticipated at the start of the evening. He liked Femmax's royal family, even with their prompt and blunt manner, and Baron and Arcee's descriptions of the princess intrigued him. Maybe…just maybe…this wasn't going to be so bad…

.......

Oh, Optimus XD How wrong you is :D

Reviews are loved :3 Hope you enjoyed, and please review.


	2. The Bachelor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus meets the femmes who have been brought to Cybertron, and quickly learns that not all are the perfect angels they pretend to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jetfire's character is based on his Armada/Energon/Cybetron incarnation.

The morning dawned early. Too early for her liking. She could hear the sound of fourteen other femmes squealing and scuttling and readying for the day just on the other side of her door. Groaning, Elita sat up, rubbing her helm to ease the ache that had built up overnight.

"Feeling alright?"

She looked up, blinking to bring the image of her most trusted bodyguard and friend into focus. "Mmm…Chromia? Good morning…"

"Is it?" Chromia snorted, walking to her charge's bedside and handing her a cube of energon. "Here. From back home. It ought to help you calm down. Their stuff is pretty strong here, anyway. Not properly refined."

Elita drank gratefully, and the sweet fluid made the ache in her helm subside almost immediately. "Thank you, Mia. You're too thoughtful for your own good."

"Not really. I brought that for myself," Chromia replied, smirking. "Come on. Let's get you armored up and down to the banquet hall. The young prince and his parents are already up and chatting with the Lady and Lord."

"Mother and Father up at this hour?" Elita snorted, climbing off the bed and allowing Chromia to dress her. Femmax's empress was accustomed to getting up when the sun was already high above the horizon.

"They're really pushing for this alliance," Chromia said seriously, stepping back to admire the younger femme's rosy red armor. "As should you. And you look wonderful," she added, her face softening and a smile touching her mouthplates. "No way are you going to be able to hide the fact that you're a princess."

"Just you watch me," Elita retorted fiercely, making Chromia laugh as they exited the private quarters. The other femmes were all crowded into one giant room, fitted with fourteen berths and a massive washroom. Elita neglected it today, feeling no great desire to squeeze into a bath with fourteen other femmes. She dawdled for a while until some of the other femmes were ready, and then she and Chromia accompanied five or so down to the banquet hall.

As Chromia had said, Sephirium and Baron were already up, as was Arcee, all three talking merrily with a titanic golden mech and a small, very pretty white femme. Arcee was playing with a little silver youngling, overshadowed by what Elita thought was the largest and most handsome mech she'd ever seen.

He was young, her age or a little older. His armor shone in the bright light, the rich reds and blues clashing together with divine magnificence. His optics were cobalt blue, the deepest blue she'd ever seen, aglow with affection as he watched the youngling play. He was muscled heavily, but lean, his wide, strong chest teasing into narrow hips and thick thighs. His huge feet should have made his lower body look awkward, but he instead looked stronger and faster for it.

As though he'd sensed their approach, the mech lifted his head and smiled, and Elita thought her spark might stop. His face was open and warm, kind; his mouth was wide, his jaw square and strong, his helm all angles and sharp, flattering protrusions.

A few of her sisters giggled eagerly, and the procession sped up slightly; only Elita and Chromia lagged behind.

"Look at him," Chromia said in awe, thunderstruck.

"No kidding," Elita responded weakly. And only then did she realize that her friend was not looking at the same mech.

Chromia's attention had been drawn, it seemed, to a behemoth of a mech hulking a small ways behind the golden lord to whom Elita's parents spoke. He was a regular leviathan—his armor was blacker than night in empty space, his dark blue optics burning like collapsed stars in his shadowed faceplate. Everything about him was wide and stoic, from his shoulders to his chest to hips to his feet, planted nearly two shoulder widths apart, offering a perfect view of his flexing thighs and taut abdomen, not to mention (Chromia fairly purred) the bulging crotchplate between his legs. His face wasn't nearly as striking as Optimus's; it was scarred, and one of his optics seemed to be disfunctional. His mouthplates were drawn back in a silent growl. His strong jaw was clenched, his optics narrowed, his huge, powerful hands flexing soundlessly at his sides. He shifted his weight to his other legs, the gears creaking ominously.

"He looks positively barbaric," Elita muttered uneasily. Chromia looked at her in shock.

"Are you crazy?!"

Elita only shook her head in exasperation. She would never, ever understand Chromia's taste in males. "Whatever. Ah, Mia—he's looking this way!"

"Good," Chromia smirked, seeming to swell in her dusky blue armor. Raising her head high, she led Elita forward to the congregation of femmes, where there Femmaxian ladies were flocking busily around the handsome young mech.

Again, Elita hung back, watching him, observing him, trying to know him without speaking a word. He was bashful, answering the femmes' questions with shy responses and modest ducks of his head. His laughter was nervous, his own questions tentative. A quiet, reserved, friendly sort of mech. And they couldn't get enough of him.

Arcee sauntered with calculated laziness over to Elita and Chromia, smirking up at her sister.

"Well? What do you think?"

"He's…handsome, at least," Elita acquiesced, shrugging nonchalantly.

"He's nice. I ate with him last night," Arcee informed her briskly. "He's more confident than he seems. He's going along with this bonding thing to help his planet."

"Is he now," Elita murmured, returning her gaze to the mech. Almost as if he'd sensed her gaze, the mech looked up, and for the briefest of moments, their optics locked. She felt her spark surge almost painfully, and she saw him inhale sharply, one hand twitching as if to touch his chestplates—but then the moment was gone, for his attention was seized by a giggling femme bouncing in front of him.

Elita frowned, rubbing her chestplates uncomfortably. What was that? He'd felt it too, she was sure of that. Was her spark playing tricks on her?

The rest of the little group of femmes cantered down not more than a breem later, and Sentinel and Sephirium took it upon themselves to settle the group down and begin the introductions.

"Ladies, esteemed guests," the golden mech began, spreading his arms wide and smiling warmly at them. "Welcome, welcome to Cybertron. Welcome to our beloved planet. We are so truly honored and excited to have you among us. While you are here, please know that your every whim and wish shall be catered to. We are your humble hosts for however long you'll have us."

The femmes all giggled, and Elita rolled her optics, resisting the urge to look at Chromia, who'd separated herself tactfully from her charge to avoid drawing attention to the princess. She knew Chromia must be ready to gag.

"I am Sentinel Prime, the Lord and Commander of Cybertron," the golden mech went on, his blue optics sparkling and alight. "May I introduce Angelbane, my empress and my sparkmate." The white femme behind him stepped forward, smiling up at him as she accepted the hand he offered her. He intertwined his fingers with hers, gazing down at her with unmistakable love. It took Elita aback a little; she'd never seen such open affection between a mech and a femme. She'd certainly never seen it in her parents.

"This," Sentinel continued, gesturing to the silver youngling who'd toddled over to his side. "Is our youngest son and Cybertron's second prince, Megatron."

The youngling waved a little shyly before tucking his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels. When he realized the other femmes were still looking at him, he cleared his vocalizer and said informatively,

"I'm not the one who's getting bonded. He is." He pointed one stubby finger at the red and blue mech, who winced and patted the little one's head awkwardly.

"Which brings us to the reason you're all here," Sentinel chuckled, opening a hand to the mech. "My eldest son, the future Prime and heir apparent to my throne—Optimus."

The prince bowed his head, stepping forward to face the congregation. "It's an honor, a great pleasure to meet all of you," he said quietly, and Elita was shocked by the sheer depth of his voice. "The circumstances under which we meet may be pre-arranged and not necessarily within the scope of our control, but I look forward to getting to know all of you from the bottom of my spark. Please, tell me if there is anything that can be done to make your stay on my homeworld more comfortable."

Again, his gaze wandered over to Elita, again she met his optics, and again her spark made the strange surging motion against its sparkcase. She dropped her gaze, suddenly feeling shy and unsure of herself. Optimus felt a sharp, biting disappointment in some unknown corner of his spark before he bowed graciously and stepped back, allowing Sephirium to take over the introductions.

There were fifteen femmes in all, many of whose names he did not particularly remember. He watched Sephirium closely as she introduced each in turn, trying to identify some hint in her manner that would reveal who her daughter was, but he had no such luck. She introduced them all with equal enthusiasm and eagerness, as if she hoped that each would be his future princess.

He did, however, pay particular attention to the name of the rosy red femme to whom he'd felt such a strange connection.

"…and beside her is Elita, our untamable phoenix," Sephirium said, gesturing to the fiery-colored femme. Optimus felt his pump quicken at the sound of her name. Elita. Elita…

And then he did something stupid that he hadn't planned on doing before.

As Elita dipped her head and muttered out an awkward greeting, he moved forward, so suddenly that many of the femmes jumped. Elita blinked at him in blatant shock when he dropped to one knee in front of her, taking her tiny hand in his.

"It's a pleasure, milady," he intoned quietly, his optics catching hers in their burning gaze. And he pressed his mouthplates to the back of her hand.

The touch sent every nerve in her body on end, sent her spark into a whirlwind of ecstatic activity. A jolt raced up her arm and seemed to set her very being on fire. She jerked her hand back, shocked by the strange connection, leaving him grasping at empty air.

"Um," she stammered out, feeling the optics of everyone in the room locked on her. "It's…ah…it's…"

Optimus rose slowly, his optics not once leaving her face. His gaze was smoldering, seeing straight through her, into her.

"…a pleasure," she finished weakly, clutching her hand to her chestplates. "To meet you. Too."

He nodded once, his jaw set and his optics still burning into her. Stepping back, he tucked his hands behind his back and looked expectantly at Sephirium. The Empress merely stared at him, dumbstruck, before shaking herself and pressing on with the introductions.

Elita ducked her head, feeling the optics of the other femmes boring into her. Jealousy, envy, suspicion…all wondering what she had done to hook the male so quickly. Had she revealed her lineage? She'd told them that she wouldn't—had she been trying to lull them into a false sense of security?

They were all seated following the greetings; Optimus sat across from Elita, surrounded on either side by the femmes who'd been strong enough to wrestle to a good seat. Sentinel and Sephirium again headed the table, the mech smiling and nodding as the Empress gushed about each of the femmes in turn. A few laughed when a femme named Thunderblast was uprooted from Optimus's left side by a perfectly cheerful Arcee. Optimus smiled warmly as the little femme sat at his side, but dutifully engaged his prospect mates rather than losing himself in conversation with her again.

Chromia, meanwhile, seated herself on Elita's free side, and stiffened when the black mech sank into the seat beside her. Rather than drinking from the table, he brought his own energon cube from subspace and uncapped it, sighing happily as its aroma wafted up to his noseplates.

"Best way to avoid poisoning," he said informatively in response to Chromia's questioning gaze. "I keep telling Optimus and Sentinel to do the same. Not that they ever listen." He shrugged one shoulder. "Anyway. I didn't catch your name."

"I never offered it," she replied smoothly, making a point of appearing preoccupied in choosing an energon goodie.

"I'm Ironhide," he said, moving his chair marginally closer to hers. "Weapons specialist. I'm also the runt's bodyguard."

"How nice," she replied smoothly.

"Don't suppose I could get your name in return?"

"Don't suppose you'll need it," she retorted sharply. "This is just business."

"It doesn't have to be," he intoned quietly, but she didn't offer another word…stubbornly ignoring the strange leaping in her spark.

Ironhide settled back in his seat, frowning darkly. He knew what his spark was telling him. He'd been around long enough to know when it was telling him something useful. And this femme…dusty blue, curvaceous, whispering of a quiet, latent strength…he'd never felt anything like it.

To think that it was one sided…

"You can't tell me you don't feel it, femme," he growled quietly, and she looked at him, startled.

"What?"

"It's a storm in here," he said, his voice dropping in pitch and volume, tapping his chestplates pointedly. "No way am I the only one feeling this."

She tightened her jaw, narrowing her optics. Her spark, too, was throwing a tantrum in its casing, demanding that she throw the male on his back and make him hers…but no way in Pit was she about to roll over that easily.

"No, you're not the only one," she admitted, locking her optics with his. He didn't look away. Good. "But really, Ironhide…you don't even know my name."

He jerked back, scowling. "That's because you won't tell me, femme."

She smiled coyly, lifting one finger to run it along the hard, strong expanse of his jaw. The contact made them both shiver with barely hidden delight.

"…What are you two doing?"

Chromia's hand all but flew from Ironhide's face, and she spun to face her charge innocently.

"Nothing," she said brightly. "Anyway, what was going on with you and the prince?"

Ironhide tried to lean in on the conversation, irked at being so suddenly ignored. He fairly squawked in indignation when Chromia purposefully shouldered him away.

"I don't know," Elita sighed uncomfortably, rubbing her helm. "I just…I felt connected to him, somehow…"

"Primus," Chromia sighed. "Not even a joor on this planet, and already these mechs are trying to get under our armor…"

Elita made a small noise of agreement, trying—with little success—to avoid looking at the mech whose optics were on her. Optimus. Cybertron's crown prince, the future Prime…

Who is she? Optimus found himself wondering, even surrounded by fourteen other fawning femmes. All I have is her name…

"So, milord, how do you intend to go about choosing your lovely empress?" Baron questioned lightly, and all at once, all attention in the room was focused solely on the prince.

"…Ah. Um…" Optimus rubbed the back of his helm. "I hadn't really…I mean, I have, I have thought about it some, but…"

"And?" Sephirium prompted kindly.

"I'd like…" Optimus frowned, feeling increasingly helpless by the moment. "I'd like…what if…" A sudden idea struck him, and he lifted his head, his optics brightening. "I'd like to get to know them all personally. After all, we are going to spend…a good deal of time together…so our compatibility and cooperation will be absolutely essential. If each of you"—he looked around at all the femmes—"could think about what on Cybertron you'd like to see or do, I'd like to be your personal escort for a day."

The reaction was immediate and almost nuclear; all at once, every femme in the room (Elita, Chromia, and Arcee excluded) fairly shrieked with glee, conversations erupting between them. Sentinel laughed deeply, crediting his son with a wink; Optimus beamed, pleased with his decision. He wasn't that great at getting one-on-one with femmes, but at least it would be an opportunity to be himself. If he had to bond with one of these femmes, he wanted to fall in love, and to have them fall in love with him in turn…

Irresistibly, he found his optics drawn to Elita once more.

.......................................

Recharge just didn't come easily that night. He tossed and turned for a full two joors, finally electing to lie on his front and just wait for sleep to take him.

Night was just considering turning to morning when his sharp audios detected the soft opening of his door, and the light padding of feet into his room. He clamped his optics shut, trying to settle his breathing, as he felt a weight settle at his bedside.

Angelbane sighed, reaching out to gently stroke her eldest son's helm. "Optimus," she murmured, smiling gently. "I know you're not recharging."

He let loose the breath he'd been holding, lifting his optics shutters. "How did you know?"

"I sparked you, silly," she laughed softly, leaning over to press a loving kiss to his helm. "I know everything about you."

He sighed, shuttering his optics once more, enjoying his mother's soft touch. There was a sparkling inside him that he'd never quite been able to quash, a sparkling that still yearned to be close to her. It was wonderful to finally be able to indulge it.

"I'm so proud of you, Optimus," she murmured almost reverently, moving her hand down to rub his back tenderly. "We're asking so much of you. We sprung this on you an orn ago, told you that you had to get bonded with only fifteen femmes to choose from…it must be so hard."

"…Mother…"

"Hmm?"

"…How…how did you know that Father was your sparkmate?"

She cocked her head, considering, her optics bright in the darkness of his room. "I'm not sure," she replied after a fashion, smiling slightly. "It's just something you know, something you feel in your spark. All I remember is that it felt like a storm in there, like it was trying to jump right out of its casing. All I knew was how much I loved him, and how little I knew about him."

Optimus blinked up at her, confused; her smile gentled, and she leaned over to kiss him once more, stroking his helm lovingly.

"You'll understand, brightspark," she assured him quietly. "I promise. When the time comes, everything will just fall into place."

They fell into a warm silence, Optimus suddenly wanting to fight off the weariness that was overtaking him, wanting to enjoy her presence just a while longer.

"Rest, brightspark," she cooed softly, gazing lovingly down at her first born son. "I love you, Optimus."

"I love you," he mumbled, and he only felt her parting kiss to his forehead before sleep finally took him.

.....................................................

Misery.

Misery, misery, misery.

Optimus tried to be cheerful about it—really, he did—but the sound of Thunderblast's voice was effectively grinding apart his audio receptors. Never before had Iacon's marketplace been a more irritating place to be. The purple femme hung on his arm, giggling wildly at nearly every word he said, batting her bright golden optics up at him. It was nauseating, to say the least.

For the four joors he was forced to endure the femme's company, he thought of Elita.

She had a manner about her—something silent, unspoken, something he wanted to take hold of and never release. An eerie, enchanting quality that made him _want_ her in a way he couldn't describe. And he barely knew her. He didn't know her at all, really. All he had was her name, her face, the strange, overwhelming he found in his spark whenever their optics met…

"Where are these imported from?" Thunderblast was asking, holding up a number of silks she'd found at a nearby vending stand.

"…Huh?" Optimus asked blankly, looking down at the femme clutching his arm as if he'd never even seen her before.

"These," Thunderblast repeated, irked. "They're imported?"

"Oh…yes. I'm not sure where from. I'm awful at that sort of thing…"

"Oh, I'm really good with it," she gushed, subspacing her purchase and clamping down on his arm once more. "I know all about the economy of nearly every planet in our galaxy, you know, I study all the time to help my mother with her business."

"You don't say," he replied, and the nanosecond her mouthplates opened again, his processor was wandering again. It wasn't hard to keep this femme talking, and as long as she was, he could think of Elita.

"…more civilized than I thought you'd be."

"I beg your pardon?"

Thunderblast frowned, pert mouthplates curling downwards. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Ah, yes, I—forgive me, my father and I were discussing a troubling matter last night…anyway, what were you saying?"

"…Hm. I was just saying that you mechs are a lot more civilized than I thought you'd be."

"What? Why shouldn't we be?" he inquired, startled. Now that was a weighted statement.

"Well, back home, everyone says that mechs are just mindless barbarians driven by their interfaces," Thunderblast said matter-of-factly, sticking her noseplates up at an eager street vendor. "Mechs are just used for labor on our planet, you know. I haven't even spoken to one besides my father until now. And I almost never see him, he lives in this tiny little domicile outside our complex. He and Mother only see each other when they're trying for a new sparkling. He's really a useless mechanism," she added with a laugh, shaking her head. "At night he breaks down and cries so loudly I can hear him from my room, it's really pitiful."

Optimus could scarcely hear her; something was drowning out her words, a white noise in his processor, a quiet rage building in the inner crevasses of his spark. The inequality. The prejudice. Was this the obstacle he had to surmount? This ludicrous stereotype that he was a barbarian because he was a mech? Was that how Elita saw him? Was that how she would always see him?

"But you're a very intelligent mech, Optimus," Thunderblast assured him, patting his wide chest. He resisted, with no small amount of effort, the urge to recoil from her touch. Every fiber of his being rejected her, but her repulsive attitude wasn't entirely her fault; it was the result of thousands of vorns of warped, twisted, discriminatory society.

"Thank you very much," he said, forcing a weak smile. "I hope your opinion of mechs changes while you are on our planet."

"I was shocked coming here, really," she laughed, brushing some imaginary lint from her upper thigh. Likely a ploy to draw his attention to her frame. Needless to say, it wasn't successful. "Your father is in control! I was shocked! Your mother trailed behind him like a technopuppy!"

Optimus stopped in his tracks, making her stumble as her fingers were still wrapped around his forearm in a vice-like grip. "What?" he ground out, horrified.

"Well, she was just so submissive," Thunderblast said, obviously bewildered by his reaction. "He must have really beat the spirit out of her. She's like a drone. I mean, really, Cybertron is so different. What do you people do to your femmes?"

Optimus stared at her for what must have felt to the femme to be eternity, and then, slowly, he pulled his arm from her grasp.

"My mother," he said quietly, voice shaking with barely repressed fury, "is the strongest, kindest, most resilient bot I have ever known. She and my father are _partners_ , they are _sparkmates_. He has done nothing to diminish her spirit; he would never hurt her. He would never belittle her. Not that it would be possible even if he tried—she has weathered storms you could only dream of. She is not submissive, she simply does not oppose Father, because she is his ally in all things. She is _my_ ally in all things." He lowered his head, fighting to maintain his composure. "I do not wish to see you again. It is painfully clear to me that we could not rule together peacefully. I apologize, but I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay."

He turned swiftly on his heel and made fast strides back towards the base, something in his spark burning him from the inside out.

That was it. That was his greatest obstacle. This incredible barrier between his culture and theirs, this awful prejudice that labeled him a barbarian, a monster in every aspect of the word. It wasn't just mechs that the Femmaxians thought poorly of—a femme in a loving relationship was considered weak, submissive, a mere servant to the whims of her mate.

He felt his pace increasing, and he made no effort to control himself. A few bots tried to stop him in the streets and say hello, calling out his designation—"Lord Optimus," they called, "my prince!" Something inside of him broke, driving him into a run.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't climb this wall. He couldn't prove himself to these femmes, couldn't prove himself to be anything more than a pleasure drone. Their excitement in meeting him, their eagerness to spend time with him—they wanted nothing more than to be in his berth. He was a walking body to them, a mech to be enjoyed and then thrown away.

How was he supposed to mate with a femme who wasn't even aware that he had a spark?

In his haste, in his wild, horrified panic, he completely bowled her. His processor couldn't compute how he'd gone from upright to sprawled on the street, but he was very aware of someone squirming beneath him.

"Hey!" Elita snapped, struggling to free herself from beneath the huge mech. "What's wrong with you?! Get off!"

"…Ah," he gasped, scrambling to get to his feet. "I-I'm sorry…I wasn't watching…I got…um, are you alright…?" He extended his hand to her, optics laden with concern and his face marred by guilt. "I really didn't mean to, I was upset and just started running…"

"I noticed," she groaned, accepting his hand. Again, that incredible connection—that jolt that passed between them. He hesitated before gently helping her to her feet, placing a steadying hand at her elbow when she wobbled.

"Are you well?" he asked worriedly when she released a second groan through gritted denta, putting a hand to her helm. "You…you're sort of overheated…"

"I'm fine," she grumbled, shrugging off his hand. "What are you doing out here, milord?"

"Optimus."

"Pardon?"

"It's just Optimus," he said uncomfortably, grimacing. "I hate all of those formalities, especially outside the base. Optimus is my name. Call me by my name."

"…Alright," she conceded slowly, nodding. "Optimus. What are you doing wandering—er, running—around in the middle of the city?"

He hesitated, wondering just how much of the truth it would be wise to reveal. "I was out with Thunderblast," he began cautiously, and was hardly surprised to see her pull a face. "She just said something…it just…I was just made aware of how very different our cultures are. I…I hate to say it, but it made me doubt if an alliance is even possible."

"Thunderblast can do that to a bot," Elita responded, shrugging lightly. "Don't let her worry you. We were all hoping she'd be the first to be struck off your list. She's just young, naïve. She hasn't seen the universe outside of the four walls of her room."

"And what about you?" he inquired, cocking his head. "What have you seen of the universe, milady?"

"If I can't call you milord, then you certainly can't call me 'milady,'" she snorted, leaning against the wall and smirking up at him. "It's Elita. Just Elita."

"Very well. Elita."

"I know enough," she went on, looking up at Cybertron's still-starry sky. "When I was younger, I often traveled to other worlds with my tutor. Mother and Father thought it would help me to be a more well-rounded individual, apparently. I learned a lot about different cultures, and…" she hesitated, then pressed on. "I learned a lot about just how skewed our own is. Do you know what they think of femmes who are in a happily bonded relationship back on Femmax?"

"Unfortunately, I do," Optimus replied grimly. "Thunderblast…enlightened me."

Elita made a soft humming sound, peering up at the titanic mech as he joined her, leaning against the wall and turning his gaze to the wide sky. "Did she insult your mother?"

Optimus looked down at her in surprise. "Sort of. How did you know?"

"A lot of the others were shocked by how close your mother and father are," Elita responded thoughtfully. "I was too, to tell you the truth. Everyone was wondering why your mother didn't take charge more." She shrugged one shoulder as she was wont to do when discussing a difficult topic. "I don't know. It didn't seem like there was any need. Your mother is a strong femme, isn't she? Quiet and resilient as an obelisk. I was awe-struck by her. It was startling to see such an independent femme bonded so closely to a mech."

"That's how it is here," Optimus said quietly, lowering his gaze. "Sparkmates are meant to be equals, partners for life. The relationship between sparkmates is something intimate and sacred."

"It sounds sort of nice," Elita admitted wistfully. "I came here determined to never settle down, but seeing your mother and father together has made me rethink my ideals a little. That's pretty hard to do. You should congratulate them."

"I'll do that," he chuckled, and they lapsed into companionable silence, admiring the sky.

"Is it always so dark here?" she asked at length, and he nodded.

"Yes. Cybertron is a long way from our system's sun. We were near a star a few hundred vorns ago, but it collapsed when I was very small. Some astrologists and our Council of Ancients have been saying that Cybertron's being plunged into darkness is an omen of terrible things to come." He looked down at the short femme. "Is Femmax so much brighter?"

"Oh, yes," she said, smiling almost dreamily. "Our skies are golden with the light from our sun. And it's always so warm. And our world is largely organic; the wildlife and vegetation are the brightest purple and greens. Everything thrives on massive energon rivers that form a network across the planet's surface. It's really beautiful."

"Sounds like it," Optimus murmured. "I'd love to visit someday."

"You will, when you choose a mate," she said nonchalantly. "Don't romanticize it too much now, and you'll be even delighted when you actually see it."

Optimus nodded. "I'm looking forward to it." He paused, considering his next words carefully as he inspected his internal chronometer. "We have some time before we're due back at the banquet hall. Would you like to take a wallk?"

She looked up at him, and this time she almost relished in the strange surging of her spark as their optics met. He was truly a strange mech. So simple in his words, but there was something unfathomably deep in his gaze.

"I don't think so," she responded quietly. "We should head back. Don't want to risk being late."

"Ah," he said, smothering his disappointment. "Yes, of course." She nodded and stepped away from the wall, but when his footsteps did not follow, she turned to blink at him.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't answer for a moment, staring over his shoulder towards the marketplace. After a fashion, he turned to her and made a face.

"I suppose I should go retrieve Thunderblast."

..........................................

Ironhide and Chromia were not happy, to say the least.

"Wandering around in Iacon—"

"Leaving that poor femme all by herself—"

"—surrounded by a bunch of mechs—"

"—she could have been kidnapped—"

"—you could have been raped—"

"—or killed—"

"Or all three!" the two finished in unison, mouthplates drawn up in an angry snarl, their stances mimicking one another—legs spread wide, arms folded, leant forward, indignantly furious.

"Sorry, Ironhide," Optimus mumbled, squirming under his bodyguard's angry gaze. "I just…wasn't thinking."

"Damn right you weren't!" Ironhide snarled, seizing the young mech by the scruff bar and dragging their faces closer together. "Use your damn head, Optimus!"

"Yes, sir," Optimus intoned quietly, lowering his gaze. Ironhide grabbed his chin roughly, forcing the younger mech to look him in the optics.

"What was that, soldier?"

" _Yes, sir_ ," Optimus repeated in a growl, meeting the other mech's gaze steadily. A tense moment of silence passed, Elita and Chromia watching in shock. Finally, with a grunt, Ironhide released Optimus, cuffing him over the back of the helm.

"Don't let it happen again, boy."

"Yes, sir," Optimus murmured, bowing his head.

"Good. Now, go get yourself cleaned up, you're expected in the banquet hall in five breems."

Optimus dipped his head and made to leave, receiving a quick, affectionate clap to his shoulder as he passed Ironhide. He'd nearly mounted the stairs when he was halted by a voice down the hall.

"You! Boy! Hold it!"

Optimus turned, startled; Ironhide released a low growl as a gray mech came storming down the hall.

"Councilor Xeon," Optimus greeted cautiously, returning to Ironhide's side and tucking his hands behind his back. "What can I do for—"

His voice was cut off by the fist Xeon abruptly threw into his jaw, sending the hapless young mech stumbling backwards. Ironhide tensed, a low snarl rolling from his mouthplates. Xeon turned to glare at him, amber optics burning.

"Don't your snarl at me," he hissed, optics narrowing. "You great stupid brute, know your place."

Ironhide glared for a moment longer, struggling, and only barely managed to bite down his not inconsiderable pride and step back, turning instead to Optimus and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. The young mech hadn't moved from where he'd fallen back, one hand holding his jaw. Elita glanced down at the floor and grimaced at the droplets of bright blue energon splattered on the smooth surface.

"You, boy," Xeon continued in a snarl, pointing one threatening finger at Optimus, "had better watch your step. Leaving a Femmaxian's lady's daughter alone in downtown Iacon! If you ever make a blunder like that again, I'll see to it that you never become Prime!"

Xeon cast a second glare at Ironhide before turning sharply on his heel and storming back down the hall. Ironhide was murmuring softly to his charge, holding his shoulder and trying to examine his jaw. Optimus pushed him off, shrugging away the caring hand before turning and resuming his ascent to his room.

Ironhide sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his helm uncomfortably. "I'm sorry you two had to see that," he rumbled, turning to Chromia and Elita, who were still standing in utter shock. "Councilor Xeon has been under no small amount of stress lately. Feel free to proceed to the banquet hall, I'll see to the prince."

Chromia nodded once, taking Elita's arm in her tight grip and attempting to steer the femme towards the grand hall. The princess, however, found herself rather frozen, transfixed by the sight of the male's energon on the ground. Why was it affecting her so strongly? Seeing him hit, seeing him be reprimanded so harshly by Ironhide…why was her spark aching so badly?

"Is he going to be alright?" she asked almost robotically, turning her gaze up to Ironhide. He cocked his head to the side, a little surprised.

"Yeah, yeah, I suspect he'll be fine. Optimus is a lot tougher than he looks." Ironhide forced a smile and said gruffly, "Don't worry about him, milady. Please, go enjoy your evening meal."

He stooped into an awkward bow (he hated this political crap) and turned to jog up the stairs, leaving Chromia and Elita gazing after him.

"This planet's insane," Chromia murmured, shaking her head slowly. "Absolutely insane…"

"You really think he'll be okay?" Elita wondered, turning with wide optics to her bodyguard.

"Primus, why are so worried about him?" Chromia grunted, tugging her charge towards the grand hall. "He's just a mech."

_"I got upset, and I just started running."_

"…Yeah. He's just a mech…"


	3. The Flutterings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the renewed support of his family, Optimus continues to interact with his Femmaxian suitors, while Ironhide and Chromia do...Ironhide and Chromia things.

  
  


* * *

The banquet hall was oddly quiet, and just for the reason one would expect. The prince was missing from dinner, and without him, the congregation of femmes had little to talk about. Sephirium and Sentinel boldly continued on in an attempt to make small talk for a good few breems, but eventually even they fell silent; Angelbane fidgeted, Baron toyed with his energon, and Arcee and Megatron kicked each other under the table out of sheer boredom, as children were wont to do.

"I don't suppose you know where the young lord is?" Sephirium asked at last, looking up at said mech's parents.

"I'm afraid I've quite no idea," Sentinel replied, looking troubled. "What about you, dearest?"

"The same," Angelbane agreed worriedly. "Optimus is usually very punctual. This isn't like him."

"Hmm. Perhaps the lad was detained somewhere," Baron mused, helping himself to a kind of truffle he'd rather taken a liking to. "He must be a very busy young mech."

Elita lowered her head, suddenly not much wanting her energon. Neither Optimus nor Ironhide had been seen, as far as she could tell, since Xeon had struck the prince.

"Well, while he's away, we always have another prince to entertain us," Sephirium said sweetly, smiling down at the little silver mech. Megatron had stiffened, as if he realized he was about to have to behave. "Tell me, Megatron, with your brother filling the position of Prime, what will you do?"

"I'll be the High Protectorate," Megatron responded smoothly, flawlessly, as if he were more certain of his role than even his brother.

"High Protectorate?" Sephirium repeated, blinking. "And what exactly is that?"

"The right hand of the Prime," Sentinel rumbled, blue optics gazing with unmistakable pride upon his youngest son. Megatron beamed under his father's unspoken praise. "The Prime's greatest confidant and ally. There can be no Prime without the Protectorate."

"Matters of state, economy, and politics are also largely brought to the Protectorate," Angelbane added. "He or she then brings matters of concern to the Prime for analysis and verdicts. It's a very important position."

"Really," Sephirium said, genuinely impressed that such a small mechanism was the heir apparent to such a huge responsibility. "Fascinating…and, Lord Prime, if you don't mind my asking, who is serving as your Protectorate?"

"Yes, why haven't we met this auspicious fellow?" Baron put in, and Angelbane quietly observed the swift glare he received from the Femmaxian empress. The large mech ducked his head meekly.

"Actually, my Protectorate, Ultra Magnus, is on business elsewhere," Sentinel responded, grimacing slightly. "I told him of your coming, milady, I assure you, and asked that he be here, but his mission was truly one of urgent importance. He said he simply couldn't get away. Hopefully he will drop in before you leave."

"I certainly hope so," Sephirium agreed. "What mission could possibly distract him from his position?"

Sentinel and Angelbane glanced at one another, an unspoken conversation passing between them in a matter of a fraction of a nanosecond.

"There is a second, smaller military sect on Cybertron that Magnus heads," Sentinel said, keeping his caution from his voice. "It's an important job, and since we are in a time of peace, Magnus really has little to do as my Protectorate. He seemed interested in the position, and really, there's no better mech for the job."

"I see," Sephirium said, and there was no missing the note of coolness that had crept into her voice. She was no idiot—she hadn't neglected to notice that Sentinel had skimmed over the actual question in not telling her what Magnus's job technically was. The room lapsed into a somewhat tense silence, and Sentinel could almost hear the political bonds snapping under the pressure. Sephirium may have been offended by his mistrust, but surely she shouldn't be surprised. The Prime of Cybertron would not be so foolhardy as to reveal all of its structural secrets to the head of a world that his own was not quite on friendly terms with yet.

The silence was mercifully broken by the opening of the great doors to the hall, and all of the occupants of the table swiveled to watch the immense form of Ironhide come stomping into the room, his faceplate a mask of handsome disgruntlement. He didn't bother with greetings, instead proceeding straight to the head of the table, leaning over to speak softly into Sentinel's audio. The Prime's optics widened for a fraction of an instant before he schooled his features back into calm indifference.

"Thank you, Ironhide," he rumbled, nodding slowly. "Yes, I'll see to it immediately." He got up, smiling down at the Femmaxian empress. "I'm so, so terribly sorry, milady, but I've been called away for a matter of urgency. I do not know when I shall return, so by all means, don't wait on my behalf. Enjoy your meal, and I shall have Prowl escort you back to your quarters whenever you are ready."

"Of course," Sephirium said primly, and with a nod Sentinel extended a hand to his mate. She took it without hesitation and followed him from the room, Ironhide quick on their heels.

"Tell me again, Ironhide," Sentinel said sharply as soon as the doors closed behind them, not slowing his pace down the hall and to the grand staircase. "What  _exactly_  happened?"

"Optimus left Thunderblast in Iacon's downtown market, for some reason," Ironhide growled, and Sentinel inhaled shaprly. "Don't worry, he went back to get her and brought her back, but she was damn near ready to cry, pretty clearly offended. She called her mother and whined, who called the Council and complained, or so it seems. That's only what I can surmise. Anyway, Xeon got wind, came down to the entrance hall where I was already ripping Optimus a new one, and hit him."

" _Hit him_?" Angelbane repeated, her shock nearly stopping her in her tracks. "He  _struck_  my son?!"

"Peace, sweetspark, we'll get to the bottom of this," Sentinel muttered anxiously, racing down the residential hallway to his family's quarters. Entering his password with incredible swiftness and accuracy, he shouldered his way into the room before the door had even fully closed. "Optimus!"

"Here," came a quiet voice from the other room, and the anxious parents tore into the sitting room to see their eldest son sitting on the couch, his head hung and his dim optics focused on some unspecified spot on the floor.

Angelbane hurried forward and dropped to her knees, cooing softly to her sparkling and lifting his chin. A tiny, agonized moan escaped from her mouthplates at the damage to his jaw; the joint had apparently been destroyed, the metal had bent violently inward and split. A trial of drying energon ran from his injury down to his collar armor.

"Get Ratchet," Sentinel murmured, and waited until Ironhide's footsteps were out of audioshot before kneeling in front of his son.

"Optimus," he said quietly, evenly, though his spark was wrenching at the sight of his injured child. "I need you to tell me what happened."

"…I can't do this."

"Oh, brightspark, I know it's hard," Angelbane whispered, cradling his face lovingly in her warm hands. "I know how different they are from us, and to ask you to take one as mate…"

"…No. I don't care about that."

"Then what's troubling you?"

Optimus drew in a deep, shaky breath, hands curling into fists on his knees. "Being Prime.  _I can't do it_."

Angelbane looked helplessly at her mate, who moved to crouch in front of his son and place one strong hand on either of the younger mech's shoulders.

"Optimus. You  _can_. Don't let a run in with that slagger Xeon make you think any different. By the time you're Prime he'll be long dead. Let me handle him, you don't need to—"

"You don't understand!" All at once, Optimus was up on his feet, optics blazing in fiery defiance and frustration. "How can I lead this planet when I'm governed so violently by my emotions, when I don't even have the insight to be understanding of other cultures?! I left an innocent, helpless foreign femme all alone in the busiest district on Cybertron all because she'd offended me! How can I justify that?! I  _can't_ —I can't be the omniscient  _god_  that this planet expects in a Prime! I'm too mortal! I'm  _not_  cut out for this! I can't—" His voice broke off, and then he was crying, sinking back onto the couch and clutching his knees, shoulders shaking. " _I can't do this_."

Angelbane shook her head slowly, moving forward to encompass her firstborn in her arms. Sentinel sighed heavily, sitting down beside his son and running a soothing hand over the young mech's helm. His son's side of their bond was chaotic, full of swirling doubt, fear, grief, and anxiety.

The little family sat in silence for what seemed to be eternity, their forever broken only when Ironhide arrived with Ratchet in tow. The medic took over quickly and quietly, running scans, easing Optimus's bent faceplate back into place and welding the wound closed. He felt the joint of the jaw, frowned and shook his head, and proceeded to inject a clear fluid into Optimus's lateral fuel line.

While Angelbane guided her distraught son into his room, Ratchet sat down with Sentinel, scrubbing a tired hand over his faceplates.

"This is the first time he's broken down like this?"

Sentinel nodded, optics dim, mouthplates drawn in to a distressed frown. "He's expressed anxiety about becoming Prime before, but always very calmly, rationally. He occasionally comes into my office with a concern. I talk it out with him, and he always leaves in a good mood. I've never seen him so upset before. He hasn't cried since he was a youngling—not in front of me, in any case."

"His scans suggest chronic stress and fatigue," Ratchet explained quietly, shaking his head. "He's been anxious for a while now, and bottling it inside. It's messing with his logic and emotional centers. I suspect that's why he left that femme in the marketplace, and why he's breaking down now. He's upset and exhausted, it's really a wonder he lasted this long without going completely insane."

"What do I need to do?" Sentinel asked softly. Ratchet exhaled deeply, expelling warm air through his intakes as he sat back.

"For now, I've given him something to help him rest. He'll likely recharge until tomorrow evening. Don't disturb him, first off, he's barely recharged lately. Stress, probably, keeping him up. Give him the day off after he wakes up. No femmes, no duties, no work, no training—just let him relax. Give him a few good holocubes to read. Send Megatron in to play with him. Give him a quiet, stress-free day."

The Prime sat in silence for a moment before nodding briskly, getting to his feet. "Yes…I think it'll be good for him. Thank you, Ratchet. Your help is greatly appreciated, as always."

"It's my job," the medic replied gruffly. "Besides that, your boy is important, you know?"

"Yes," Sentinel agreed quietly, his optics dimming. "That he is…"

A soft knock on the door to the family quarters stirred them from their conversation, and Sentinel got heavily to his feet. "It's open," he said gruffly, and was surprised, to say the least, to see one of the femme suitors step cautiously into the entrance hallway.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, milord," she said quickly, dropping into a bow before straightening, not trusting herself to look into his optics. "My name is Elita, Lord Prime. I was just wondering…I thought I'd just see if his lordship was well."

Sentinel and Ratchet exchanged a glance. Bold. Even Magnus did not approach the Prime's personal living areas unannounced. For a foreign delegate of no particular status to do so was definitely unheard of.

"The prince simply needs to rest," Ratchet said quietly, folding his arms over his chest. "He is merely tired from the events of the past few days. Your concern, however, is appreciated. But, young lady, please do not visit these quarters unannounced. You may be our guest here, but the home of the Prime is not territory which can be entered at just anyone's leisure."

"Ratchet," Sentinel scolded him gently. "She was worried about Optimus. It was kind of you to come up," he went on, looking at Elita and smiling warmly. "Thank you very much. I'll be sure to tell him you dropped by."

"No," she blurted, and grimaced at the surprise that crossed Sentinel's face. "I mean…it's not necessary, you know. Everyone is worried about him. There is no need to single me out, milord. Please just tell him that all of his guests wish him the best."

"Of course," Sentinel agreed, nodding sharply. Taking this as a dismissal, Elita bowed once more before hurrying from the room, fairly burning with embarrassment. Of course it hadn't been her place to go to the Prime's rooms and inquire about the prince. She may have been a princess on her homeworld, an heir to the throne, but she didn't hold a candle to the mech who would someday become Prime. They were worlds apart, in every sense of the word…

* * *

_Three days later…_

Sentinel blinked up at his ceiling, listening, as he always did, to the soft sounds of his awakening family. Angelbane was curled up at his side, one hand resting protectively over his chest, directly on top of his sparkcasing. In the room next door, the faint sounds of Megatron already at play could be heard; on the other side, the quick, steady tapping of Optimus's fingers on a keyboard.

Sentinel shuttered his optics once more, a faint smile touching his faceplates. He felt the soft brush of his sparkmate's lips against his jaw, lightly stimulating the sleeping circuitry. His arm curled around her, pulling her tightly against his frame as he rolled over onto his side, smiling down at his awakening sparkmate.

"Good morning, angelspark," he murmured, encasing her completely in the golden shield of his arms, pressing his mouthplates lovingly to her forehead.

She mumbled something in response, her arms moving around his waist to hold his body close to hers. They lay together for what felt like a blissful eternity, reveling in the sheer, uninhibited strength of their bond.

The Femmaxians…Angelbane frowned, pressing her face into the warm hollow of her strong mate's throat. How did they manage to  _survive_  without creating solid sparkbonds? To have another spark so close, so willing, and to neglect it intentionally, locking it away, using it only to procreate…

"How is Optimus going to pull this off?" she asked in a whisper. " _How_? The Femmaxian concept of a sparkbond and ours are so completely different…"

Sentinel sighed heavily, rubbing one large hand against her back. She relaxed against him, wishing, more than anything, that she could just melt into him, bring them so close that they could become one and the same…

"How do they live without it?" she breathed, tightening her grip around his beautiful golden frame. " _How_?"

"I don't know," he murmured, pressing his mouthplates to the lovely crest of her helm. "I don't know…"

The royal couple was spared only a few more moments alone before Megatron could be heard calling for his mother, and Optimus's heavy footsteps floated in from the hallway as he went to comfort his little brother. Angelbane sighed, sharing a warm kiss with her sparkmate before rolling off the berth and stepping into the hallway, slipping quietly into her youngest son's room.

Optimus was already on the floor, lying flat on his stomach and arranging an army of toy soldiers to oppose Megatron's.

"Looks to me like you're a little heavy on infantry," Megatron quipped, surveying his brother's forces carefully. "And your left flank is exposed."

"Well, I'll certainly have to remedy that," Optimus replied with a smile, making the proper adjustments to his army. "What about my heavy arms units?"

"They're fine. But your arrangement is pretty weak," Megatron giggled, prodding the animalistic toy that was supposed to be Optimus's general. "You're going to fall under my thumb!"

"Oh, really," Optimus smirked, and Megatron had no time to react before he was swept up, hung upside down, and mercilessly tickled into a hysterical pile of giggling youngling.

"St-Stop! Optimus! N-No! Hey—no f-fair! C-Cut it out!"

Optimus laughed, snatching the little youngling up even as Megatron managed to struggle away and hugging him close. "You're a good little mech, Megatron."

"Yeah, yeah," the youngling grumbled, grudgingly accepting his elder brother's embrace. "Will you let me go already? This is embarrassing."

"No way," Optimus snorted, nudging his helm against his baby brother's. "I love you too much, little one."

Megatron huffed impatiently, folding his arms over his tiny chest, cute faceplates sliding into a pout. Optimus chuckled, releasing the youngling, who scrambled out of his brother's lap and back to his side of the 'battlefield.' Angelbane smiled, watching as they resumed their play, and was about to step into the room when Megatron spoke up—and nearly broke her spark on the spot.

"Brother…when you're bonded, will we not be able to play anymore?"

Optimus looked up, frowning, watching his little brother with concern. "What are you talking about? Of course we will. Why wouldn't I play with my best buddy?"

Megatron shrugged, tactfully avoiding the older mech's optics as he absently rearranged his infantry. "I dunno. You'll be all busy with your mate and sparklings and business and being Prime…maybe you won't have time for me."

A moment of silence passed before Optimus leaned forward, lifting his little brother's chin and sighing at the sight of the teary optics that looked up at him. "Megatron," he murmured gently, pulling the youngling into his frame once more. "Nothing will ever,  _ever_  change the fact that you and I are family. You will always be my little brother, and I shall always love you."

Megatron sniffled, nodding and pressing his face into his brother's chest. "I love you too, Opt," he mumbled, wiping his wet optics. "It's just…it's going to be so  _weird_ , seeing you with a femme."

Optimus laughed softly, shaking his head and rubbing the little mech's back. "I couldn't agree more," he sighed. "But we'll manage. I won't bond with a femme who's unkind to you, Megatron, you needn't worry about that."

"Really? Even if you fall in love with her?"

"I couldn't love a femme who didn't care for you as much as I do," Optimus said firmly, getting to his feet and setting the little mech down on his berth. "You have as much say in who I choose as anyone else, understand?"

Megatron brightened at that, allowing his brother to change him into the heavier armor that he wore during the day. It hurt Angelbane's spark to see her little son wearing borderline battle armor, but there had been assassination attempts made on the children of Primes more popular than Sentinel, and her mate wasn't willing to take any chances with his beloved sons.

Once the brothers had taken up their playful bickering once more, Angelbane decided it was appropriate to step in.

"Good morning, you two," she said cheerfully, striding into the room and stroking Megatron's helm in greeting. "You're both up early."

"You're up late," Optimus replied snarkily, earning himself a light smack to the back of his helm. "Is Father awake?"

"Somewhat," Angelbane laughed, lifting her youngest son into her arms and petting his helm lovingly. "If you needed to talk to him, I'd wait another breem or two."

"I see…" Optimus frowned for a moment, then turned to his brother. "Megatron, go get your morning energon, alright?"

"Not hungry," Megatron retorted, sliding off of his berth and bending down in front of his toys once more.

"Go on, brightspark," Angelbane said gently, nudging her little son's aft with her foot. "We'll be along in a moment."

Megatron released a frustrated sigh, but ambled off into the kitchen anyway; rebellious as he was, he could never disobey his mother. Angelbane turned to her eldest, frowning as she gently stroked his abused jaw.

"How are you feeling, Optimus?"

"Better," he admitted, sinking down upon his little brother's berth and absently picking up a much-loved stuffed toy, stroking its worn head. "I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble, Mother."

"Oh, Optimus, you didn't do anything wrong," she murmured, bending down to lovingly kiss his helm.

"I shouldn't have left Thunderblast," he said miserably, sighing, his shoulders slumping from their normally proud position. "This alliance is so important. I was irresponsible."

"I'm not saying you showed the best judgment, brightspark, but you were hurt and upset," Angelbane soothed, sitting down and taking one of his giant hands in both of hers. "You're still so young, Optimus. We're asking far too much of you, and you're handling yourself so admirably. You were long since overdue for a breakdown."

"You're just trying to make me feel better," he mumbled.

"And is it working?"

"…A bit," he acquiesced, smiling. "Thank you, Mother."

"You're very welcome," she replied, brightening as she kissed his helm once more. "Primus, you're not my little sparkling anymore. Come, Megatron will be growing impatient."

Optimus nodded, following the pearly femme from the happy little bedroom. Megatron was already at the table, swinging his legs and slurping a cube of energon with earnest. Angelbane bent to press a swift kiss to her youngest son's helm before placing another three cubes in the heater, gazing out the window as she waited. Optimus paused in the entryway to the kitchen, a smile touching his faceplates as he gazed upon his family.  _His_  family. He loved it, that irreplaceable and unconditional sense of belonging. It almost made him eager to pick his sparkmate; the thought of waking up in the morning to see a femme he loved recharging next to him, climbing out of bed and greeting happy, bounding sparklings…

"In or out, boy?"

The young prince gave a start, turning around and nearly going nose-to-chest with his immense sire. "F-Father! Good morning…"

"Good morning to you," Sentinel replied warmly, placing his hands on his child's shoulders and propelling Optimus backwards into the kitchen. "Feeling better now?"

"Yes, much…"

"By the way, the ladies wanted to express their concern for you. They sent an envoy and everything."

"That was certainly kind of them. When are we expected to see the femmes?"

"Not until tonight, officially. Although, if you wanted to take one of them out today, I'm sure they'd have no objections."

"Perhaps I'll do that…" Optimus mused, breaking off in a laugh as he glanced at his baby brother. "Megatron, you've got a little something on your face…"

"Hunh?" The youngling looked up, blinking at his sibling through a solid wall of golden leftovers. "Where?"

"Don't worry about it, it's hardly noticeable," Optimus snorted.

"Don't tease him, Optimus," Angelbane scolded lightly, attacking her baby's face with a wet cloth while he whined in protest, trying to wriggle away from her. "No, Megatron, sit still, naughty sparkling…"

"Don't wanna!"

" _Megatron_ …"

Sentinel rose from the table, having heard his comm. link going off through the din, while Optimus attempted to help his mother clean the crying Megatron, who had managed to tear the cloth in half with his sharp youngling denta and was refusing to yield his piece, keeping his trophy clamped tightly in his little jaw.

"Optimus," Sentinel said, coming in from his room and smoothly plucking the cloth from his son's mouth. "A femme named Moonracer was wondering if you'd be so kind as to see her today."

Ignoring the subtle pang of disappointment—he'd already been wondering where to take Elita—Optimus nodded graciously. "Of course. I'd be honored."

The golden Prime smiled, patting Optimus's helm before returning to his room to finish the call. Angelbane reached over the table to gently squeeze her eldest's hand, giving him a reassuring nod when he looked at her.

"You'll be just fine," Angelbane murmured, and she was so sincere that for a moment, Optimus felt very much inclined to believe her.

* * *

He could thank Primus that, at least, this experience would be much more enjoyable than his date with Thunderblast. Moonracer was a quiet, shy, cute little femme, minty green and with the most delicate, petite frame he'd ever seen. Her blue optics seemed almost too big for her face, and the hand cradled in his arm seemed to be trembling very slightly.

"Are you feeling alright?" Optimus asked kindly, looking down at the little femme. She jumped slightly when he spoke, blinking up at him.

"Oh…yes, yes, I'm fine. It's just…I've never been out with a mech before. I'm not sure what to do."

"Please relax," he said gently, patting her small hand. "I'm here to ensure that you enjoy yourself. Is there somewhere you would like to go?"

"I'm not sure," she said slowly, shifting her weight from foot to foot. They were standing together in a huge elevator-like contraption, descending from the highest levels of Iaconian "palace" to reach the city below. She peered out of their capsule, gazing at the city through the clear glass tube. "I've never been to Cybertron before. I'm not even sure what Iacon's main tourist attractions are."

"Well, there's the marketplace, and the theatre, and the arena—oh, but I don't suppose you'd much like it there—and there's always the Crystal Gardens if you're alright going as far as Praxus, and—"

"Oh! Milord…"

"Yes?"

"Um…I like art," she said timidly, huge blue optics watching him cautiously. "I love it, really. But Mother says it's not practical and won't let me pursue it back home. Could we…?"

"Iacon has the biggest and most beautiful art museum on the face of the planet," Optimus informed her, smiling when her face brightened. "I don't suppose you'd like to go…?"

"Oh, could we?! Milord, that would be wonderful, you've no idea—could we  _really_?!"

"Of course we could," he laughed, nudging her side playfully with his elbow. "And call me Optimus. There's no need for formalities if it's just the two of us, right?"

"O-Optimus…thank you, it means so much…"

"Think nothing of it. It's a ways off, though, so we'll call a transport, if you don't mind casual travel."

"Oh, not at all! To tell the truth, I've never been in a common transport, Mother always hires private trains and whatnot, it's really sort of tiresome, you know? I feel so conspicuous…"

"I know the feeling."

"Do you? I mean, I just…I know my mother is very important and all that, but I just can't stand to be treated differently, like I'm  _above_  everyone else."

"Precisely," Optimus agreed whole-heartedly, a little surprised by the femme's words. Thunderblast had clearly loved being pampered and attended to like the royalty she very nearly was. He supposed he'd been prejudiced in assuming that all the other femmes would be the same way. "Well then, what say you we make this as normal a date as possible?"

"Yes," she said happily, and their transport ride passed cheerfully, full of amicable conversation.

It was by  _far_  a better experience than his time with Thunderblast. Moonracer was kind and curious, full of happy energy, and Optimus found himself uplifted just by being in her presence. She nearly exploded with excitement when they stepped out in front of the huge old building.

"Oh, Optimus, it's beautiful! It's really, really beautiful! It's made of stone?!"

"Yes…materials were imported from a nearby organic planet just to make the building more unique."

"It's lovely! We don't have  _anything_  like this back home, and the architecture is so incredible! It's a work of art all by itself!"

"We haven't even set foot inside yet," he laughed, taking her arm and tugging her toward the entrance. "Come, we have to move quickly if we want to see everything."

After paying the small fee for the both of them (waving off Moonracer's protests that she could pay for herself), Optimus led the little femme into the opening wings of the museum, and from there, he felt like he was babysitting Megatron. She couldn't seem to hold still—every work fascinated her, every color spoke a thousand emotions and thoughts. He'd never seen anyone so delighted by such simple pieces.

"Optimus! Optimus, just look at this one!"

"Hm?" Tearing his optics from a lovely sculpture of Prima, Optimus turned and strode to his companion's side, blinking up at the work in question. "What the…?"

"It's an erupting nebula!" Moonracer said excitedly, seizing his hand in her zeal and pulling him closer to point up at the piece. "Look! The star in the middle has gone supernova! And the whole piece has been done in tiny, tiny pieces of shrapnel, painted and then glazed…oh, it's so pretty! It must have taken so much work!"

Optimus, however, found himself abruptly distracted by the tiny hand in his. He'd never held hands with a femme before. Moonracer paused in her soliloquy and glanced down, blinking in surprise when she realized that she'd taken his hand.

"O-Oh…sorry, Optimus, I didn't…"

"It's alright," he said suddenly, and she fairly yelped when his fingers tightened around hers. "I don't mind a bit."

She blinked up at him, returning his bright smile shyly, astounded by the sheer warmth coming off the frame so close to hers.

"Now then," he said, turning back to the painting. "Who did you say the artist was…?"

* * *

In another section of Iacon, Ironhide and Chromia were on a date of their own. Even if Chromia didn't know it.

The dusky blue femme had all but cornered Ironhide in the palace, demanding to know where she could use her guns legally. Thoroughly smitten (and intimidated), Ironhide had taken it upon himself to escort her to the shooting range often used by the Iacon safety authorities. It wasn't ever open to the public—Ironhide was only allowed in because of his position as bodyguard to the prince and Prime. Security had been hesitant to let Chromia in—until she lifted her double-barrel rifle onto her shoulder and growled at them. They'd stepped aside quickly enough.

Sneaking a glance to his left in the middle of a round, Ironhide felt a secret thrill flash through him at the sight of the femme. Her rough, crude nature rather distracted from her looks, and she really was a beautiful femme. She was tall and curvy, her faceplates stunning and dangerous. Her aft was perfect and round, and her hips curved into her waist so prettily…Ironhide had to scold the equipment that was stirring eagerly between his thighs. As much as he'd love to throw the femme on her back and put her legs over his shoulders and bury himself inside her, he  _definitely_  got the feeling that she just wouldn't be that easy.

"Hey! What are you staring at?"

Ironhide was snapped out of his trance by the femme's sharp voice, and grimaced upon finding her glaring at him, her formidable rifle still leveled at a drone that was comically limping toward the hangar door.

"You," he said bluntly, remembering his mother's advice to be honest when dealing with femmes. Chromia, however, delivered to him a filthy scowl before turning back to her prey, leaving Ironhide wondering how on Cybertron his mother could have been wrong.

"Keep your optics to yourself," she growled at him, and he turned slowly back to the range, absently taking out a drone when it ran into his view for safety from Chromia.

"Why are you being so difficult?" he asked after a breem or two, lowering his gun again to frown at her.

"Excuse me? What kind of barbarian are you?" she demanded, dropping her rifle arm to glare viciously at him. "Are you honestly irritated because a femme won't open her legs for you?"

"You know it's not like that," he growled, narrowing his optics. "And  _I know_  that your spark reacted to me."

"So? You think I'm just going to roll over onto my back for you just because  _your_  customs dictate that I should?" she snarled in response, turning to face him, bristling. He knew he should have been very afraid, but he inexplicably found his optics drawn to her strong, round thighs and slender calves.

"Sort of, yeah," he answered somewhat dreamily, shrugging nonchalantly. Chromia glared a moment longer before lifting her rifle and turning her wrath onto an unsuspecting drone. She didn't care how badly she wanted to pull off his thick, bulging crotchplate and impale herself on his undoubtedly  _huge_  rod—he was being a fragger.

Ironhide smirked. The femme was being difficult outwardly, but his sensors were telling him that her internal temperatures were rising. She was either very,  _very_  angry or a little aroused. Or both. Emboldened by her obvious reaction, Ironhide allowed his cannons to sink back into the recessed panels of his arms before striding confidently toward the femme. Chromia stiffened visibly but didn't react, continuing to pummel the poor drone upon which she had set her sights.

The big black mech paused behind her, cocking his head as he carefully surveyed her from behind. Primus, what an aft. What an  _aft!_  And that curve of her lower back, the soft, slender slope of her neck into her strong shoulders…almost subconsciously, Ironhide reached out to touch her, snaking one hand around to caress her abdomen while his other grabbed her aft gently.

Chromia reacted. She did not think, did not even consider her actions, she just moved. One elbow jerked back before Ironhide could move any further, hitting him hard in the gut. He hadn't even had time to realize he'd been hit before her fist shot up to snag him underneath the jaw, and then she spun, the flat of one hand striking the side of his neck.

Ironhide hit the ground like a felled mountain, his motor nerves grinding to a halt and his body collapsing before he could make any move to stop himself. Grunting, he rolled onto his back, staring in blank shock at the femme standing above him.

Smirking, Chromia folded her arms over her chest, standing with her feet on either side of his narrow hips. A wicked grin crossed her face, and she thrust her hips towards him lewdly, making his optics fly open wide.

"Want it?" she asked, a sultry pout curving her pert mouthplates. Ironhide bobbed his head up and down mindlessly, optics locked on the damned sodpiece hiding what he wanted most in the world. Chromia dropped into a crouch, spreading her knees wide and trailing one finger down his hard abdomen and to his thick crotchplate. "Then  _prove_  me to that you're  _better_  than that," she purred, and abruptly abandoned his body, getting swiftly to her feet and turning on her heel to stalk away from him and out of the shooting range.

Ironhide stayed prostrated on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Had that just happened? Or was it one of his wild recharge dreams? But, no—his sensors were still tingling from the sweet touch she'd trailed over his midsection. She'd  _touched_  him. And she'd told him how to win his way into her berth—and maybe her spark. Surely she wouldn't have done that if she wasn't interested. _Surely_.

"Hey! Wait!" he called, his voice taking on a sort of urgency. He scrambled to his feet, taking off after her. She paused just outside the door, arching an optic ridge when he skidded wildly to keep from slamming into her. "What now?"

"You still haven't told me your name," he growled softly, grabbing her hand and pulling her up against his chassis. She made no effort to move away, smirking up at him in that devilishly beautiful way only she could.

"And why would I do that?"

"Femme, don't be difficult, you're making me angry," Ironhide intoned, moving in closer to her, his growling mouthplates hovering hungrily above hers. Chromia tactfully tilted her head down—if he moved in for the kiss, he'd find his lips being unpleasantly headbutted.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," she replied smoothly, and attempted to move away—but his grip only tightened, his other hand snaking around her side to hold onto her back. "Hey—let go."

"Make me," he breathed. Chromia considered. She'd already hit him enough for one day, she decided, so she took a different approach. Standing up on the tips of her toes, she brushed her mouthplates over his jaw and whispered into his audio.

" _Please_  let go?"

Ironhide's jaw dropped and his hands went slack, giving her ample opportunity to slither out of his cradling grasp. His dark blue optics followed her movements as she backed away, tucking her hands behind her back and smiling sweetly at him.

"Now then, Ironhide, are you going to take me to dinner or not?"

* * *


	4. The Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron throws a tantrum, Sephirium and Baron share a moment of rekindling romance, and Optimus and Elita finally connect.

 

"I don't feel good."

The announcement drew the attention of the little family, three pairs of optics locking onto the small silver youngling standing in his doorway, one fist rubbing his right optic while his other hand clutched the end of his blue blanket.

"What do you mean, sweetie?" Angelbane inquired, getting up out of her chair to crouch down in front of her youngest son.

"My tanks feel funny," Megatron said, placing his little hand over his abdomen and frowning up at his mother.

"Do you want some energon? Or a warm bath?"

Megatron cocked his head, considering, then shook his head. "No…I just don't feel good, Momma."

Angelbane hushed him gently when he released a soft hiccup, picking her youngling up into her arms and carrying him into the bedroom she shared with her titanic golden mate. Optimus and Sentinel shared a look before getting up as well, following the femme into the bedroom.

They found Megatron leaning over the waste receptacle, crying helplessly as he emptied his tanks violently, Angelbane kneeling at his side and cooing softly to him, rubbing his back. Sentinel rumbled softly, moving forward to pat the little mech's head gently. Optimus took it upon himself to gather his little brother's favorite blanket and toy and arrange them on his parents' berth, predicting a long day ahead of them. Megatron, being the youngest, was the automatic first priority of the royal family—there wasn't one member who would hesitate to lay down their lives to help the little mech if the situation called for it.

"Oh, thank you, Optimus," Angelbane sighed, setting her sniffling son down on the hefty berth and covering him with the thermal blankets. "There's been so much excitement around here lately, it's no wonder he's gotten sick."

"Just a little tank upset," Sentinel said gruffly, laying a hand on his son's hot little head. "The little tyke will be fine if he rests for awhile. Won't you, soldier?"

"Yes, Papa," Megatron said, sniffling and snuggling deeper under the covers, one little hand reaching up for the toy Optimus offered him.

"Optimus, is it possible that you could stay and watch him?" Angelbane asked anxiously, turning her beautiful blue optics up to her eldest. "Your father and I have to see the Council today…"

"I'd promised a femme a date today," Optimus replied, frowning. "I suppose I could cancel…"

"I'm sure she'd understand if you said a family issue came up," Sentinel said smoothly, still petting the ill youngling's head. "Go ahead and run down to the femmes' quarters and tell her."

Optimus nodded briskly, making a quick run through the family rooms and down the hall to the quarters in question. Taking a moment to compose himself, he knocked briskly on the door. Scarcely a moment passed before it slid back on its tracks, and he was greeted by five excited femmes, all extending bewildered greetings, thrilled to see him so early.

"Good morning, milord—"

"What are you-?"

"What can we do for-?"

"Are you looking for someone?"

"Um, Beta," he said uncomfortably, taking a step back—and they all took a step forward. "Is she in?"

One of the femmes scuttled away and brought forward the bot in question, pushing a pretty, pine green femme up to the front of the group.

"Hello, Prince," she said pleasantly, smiling up at him. "You're early, I'm afraid I'm not quite ready yet…"

"Ah, actually," he said nervously, rubbing the back of his helm. "A little problem came up…"

"Oh?" she said, cocking her head to the side. "What's wrong?"

"My younger brother has fallen ill, you see…Mother asked me to stay home with him…"

"Well, lovely," she said brightly.

"Right, so—wait, excuse me?"

"I absolutely love little ones," Beta said cheerfully, smiling. "I'd be happy to help you take care of him, if you'd like."

"I…that…that would be wonderful," he said, sighing in relief. "If you really don't mind…"

"Oh, no, not at all. Poor little thing, just give me the word and I'll be right there."

* * *

"NO!"

"Megatron, please, behave!"

"I don't want her! No!"

"Megatron—"

"Make her go away!"

"I thought you were supposed to be sick?!"

"Who is she?! I don't like her! NO!"

"Ah, the 'no' phase," Beta said pleasantly, cheerfully watching Optimus chase the suddenly energetic youngling around the room. Megatron paused in his sprint to hiss at the green femme before diving under the bed to avoid Optimus's lunge, sending the elder prince slamming into the wall face-first.

"Frag it, Megatron, you never act like this when Mother and Father are around!" Optimus groaned, standing up and rubbing his abused noseplates. "Come out from under there this instant!"

"Make that ugly slagger go away first!" Megatron demanded, and his brother's jaw dropped.

"… _What?!_  Megatron, you get your sorry— _rear end_  out here and apologize  _right now_! That kind of language is not acceptable! I'm so sorry, Beta, I thought we'd taught him better than that…"

"Oh, it's quite alright," Beta laughed, getting onto her knees and peering underneath the berth. "I have two younger siblings at home. There's just no censoring what goes in and out of their little processors. Megatron, dear, will you come out for me? I'd love to meet you."

"Go away," Megatron spat. "Leave my brother alone, you glitchface!"

"Megatron, for the love of Primus, we've been over this already," Optimus said, frustrated, lying on his stomach and reaching a hand beneath the berth to try and drag his baby brother out. "It's not as if anyone is going to take me away from— _Ouch! Did you just bite me?!_ "

"Jerk," Megatron grumbled, slinking further back away from Optimus's retreating hand. "Liar. Fraghead. Go rust in Pit!"

"I'm so sorry," Optimus said yet again, shaking his head slowly. "I can't believe…he's never acted like this before…"

"You two must be close," she observed. "It's a little unusual. Back on Femmax, if siblings are as far apart in age as you two are, they have very little contact at all."

"What? Really?"

"Yes…the eldest daughter is the one who will take over the estates and business, so the other is often raised by hired caretakers while the eldest is trained by the mother. At least, that's the way it is with the upperclass—I don't know about the common classes."

"Beta," Optimus said slowly, cocking his head to the side, "I've been wondering something."

"Yes?"

"On Femmax…what happens if…what happens to male sparklings? To the little mechs?"

Beta's face darkened for a moment. "Optimus, it's not good. It's not pleasant. And I don't want you to think I condone it."

"I cannot imagine any of the femmes I have met so far condoning anything unfortunate happening to sparklings," he said firmly. "But I am curious. If I am to make a Femmaxian my bride, I must know what to expect."

"I see." The green femme seated herself on the berth, folding her delicate hands in her lap. "If a sparkling is born a mech, he will be disposed of as soon as possible. The very low classes often kill the sparkling through suffocation, or they abort the spark as soon as it shows signs of being male. In the upper classes, sparklings are sent to massive facilities created specifically to house young mechs abandoned by their creators."

"They're sent away? What's the purpose of these facilities, exactly?"

"To train the mechs in 'labor.' They learn modest trades, they are broken in and taught to work hard and for long periods of time. The mechs sleep, they eat, they work, then they repeat the process. And keep in mind that those are the lucky ones."

"That's…" Optimus halted, choosing his words carefully, wary of offending the femme.

"It's horrible," Beta said quietly. "My mother gave birth to a mech when I was very young. He was sent off to a labor camp on one of our planet's moons. She did not even keep him around long enough to name him. I haven't seen him since."

"I'm sorry," Optimus said quietly, reaching out to place a hand on top of one of the femme's. "I can't even imagine…to lose a sibling so abruptly..."

"I was too young," she sighed, smiling bitterly. "I didn't even understand that he was my brother. He was just a…a  _thing_  that my mother produced. A mistake. It wasn't until I was much older that I realized I'd lost not an object, but a family member. A precious little brother that I could have raised and loved and cared for." Venting away a breath of stale air, she stood up, turning to smile down at the mech. "But, Prince, let's not talk of this anymore. It's not good conversation material for a first date. How about we see to your little brother, hm?"

"Ah, yes, of course," he said quickly, getting to his feet and dropping to a crouch again. "Megatron? Are you ready to behave?"

There was a silence, and then the little silver youngling crawled out, hesitating with his head halfway exposed, big blue optics blinking up at the bigger bots hovering over him.

"Sorry about biting you, Optimus," he said in a small voice. "And I'm sorry for being so mean."

"It's alright," the future Prime said gently, extending a hand to the little mech. "Come on out, Megatron."

The little mech pulled himself out, scooching out on his stomach, before climbing to his feet and tucking his hands behind his back, looking meekly up at his brother. Optimus smiled, reaching down to whisk his baby brother into his arms before turning to face the beaming Beta.

"Now then, Megatron," he said smoothly. "How would you like to  _properly_  greet a Femmaxian lady?"

* * *

"…He fell asleep…"

"Finally…"

"He was so energetic…"

"Agreed…"

The Prime's quarters were trashed—toys, energon cubes, shattered holocubes, remote controls, and blankets littered the floor. Not one inch of the spacious apartment had been spared the youngling's wrath. Megatron had had a field day, making as much mess as he could, his naughtiness heightened by the knowledge that Optimus and the pretty green femme would follow behind him and clean up all of his messes.

Unfortunately, both of his caretakers had collapsed of exhaustion several breems ago, and were now strewn about on the couch in the main living area, staring dolefully around at the enormous task that still awaited them.

"It was fun, in any case," Beta sighed happily, turning to cast a radiant smile at her exhausted companion. "You're wonderful with younglings, milord."

"Thank you," he replied warmly, but then found that he couldn't really think of much else to say. Beta was a lovely femme, warm and kind and with a spark like gold, but the attraction just wasn't there for him. All he could think about was how handy she'd be serving in a military environment, what a good subordinate she'd make. His father was rubbing off on him.

"Shall we get to cleaning up, then?"

"Ah…no, why don't you go down to the banquet hall? You've done more than enough for me, and this was supposed to be a date, too. I'll clean up here and be along with Megatron at some point or another."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," he said, getting to his feet and offering her his hand. "Thank you for the day, milady. It was more fun than I've had in a long time."

"I'm glad." And there it was. An awkward silence, the first of the day, mech staring at femme. Mech not really attracted, femme obviously  _very_  attracted and hoping he'd make a move. Awkward, awkward situation.

"Well," he said, forcing a smile, "I'll see you in a bit, then."

He grimaced internally at the shadow of disappointment that passed over her face. But she smiled and nodded and left, without a tear shed or a single angry word passing from her vocalizer, and he relaxed visibly, collapsing back down onto the couch with a sigh.

"You okay?" Megatron questioned, rolling over with a ball and looking up at his big brother.

"Yes, but no thanks to you," Optimus said flatly. "You're supposed to be in recharge. Did you have to behave like such a little monster?"

"She's not fun enough. Don't bond with her."

"I wasn't planning on it. There's just no attraction."

"I think she liked you."

"Yes, I think so too." The future Prime shuttered his optics, exhaustion seeping into every joint of his being. With a groan, he stretched his legs out to prop his feet on the table, a soft purr escaping his vocalizer as his hydraulics depressurized. Megatron took advantage of his brother's prone state, scrambling into the huge mech's lap and curling up comfortably.

"Hey," Optimus mumbled, already feeling his processor falling victim to his recharge cycle. "Get off…go clean up…"

"That's your job," Megatron replied, heaving a long yawn. "Besides, I'm tired…"

"I am too…"

"And whose fault is that…?"

" _Yours_ …"

One joor later, Sentinel Prime and Angelbane replied from the dinner service with the lord and ladies of Femmax, perfectly ready to berate their eldest son for skipping out again—and completely forgot all thoughts of punishment at the sight of their two sparklings stretched out together on the couch, Megatron slouched against his brother's chestplates, Optimus's thick arms wrapped around his youngling, both snoring gently.

Sentinel gave his mate's fingers a squeeze, his gaze softening when she turned her happy, luminous optics up to him.

"They're wonderful," she murmured, looking back at her sons, her spark swelling and overflowing with adoration. "Both of them. We're so lucky, Sentinel."

He rumbled his agreement, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his immense golden frame. She giggled when his fingers traced the hollow of her hip, swatting his hand away.

"Sentinel!" she scolded, sounding scandalized.

"What?" he inquired, smirking down at her mischeviously. "Both of the little ones asleep, the Femmaxians out of the way, no duty tonight…can you really blame me for desiring my beautiful little femme?"

"Little?" she growled, poking his chest accusingly, and had to stifle a yelp when he abruptly swept her up into his arms, carrying her swiftly into their bedroom. She looked up at him as he lowered her tenderly onto the berth, her delicate fingers tracing the hard, strong lines of his jaw. His own thick digits hooked beneath her chin, turning her face upward so he could lean in and kiss her lovingly, molding his mouthplates to hers. She sighed softly, shuttering her optics and wrapping an arm around his helm, pulling her down onto the berth with her. He broke their kiss to lower his mouth to her throat, whispering sweet nothings as he pulled her tightly into his arms, pouring his love for her into their bond.

She truly was a beautiful femme, inside and out. Regally beautiful faceplates, smooth, pearly white armor that glowed like a nova when the sun struck it just so—long limbs and the softest curves he could have ever imagined. Her spark was the gentlest blue, so blue it was nearly white, subtle and cool like a breath of fresh air. He'd long loved her, loved her before he'd even worked up the courage to speak to her, and she'd accepted him so freely, understood him so completely…from the moment he took her hand, he'd known that he'd be bonded to her.

And he remembered, so vividly, how young they'd been when Ratchet had identified the tiny spark growing alongside hers—the incredible glow of her optics when she looked up at him, stunned and overjoyed beyond words. He remembered how she looked holding their firstborn, how her optics had softened and her lips curled into a tender smile, how lovingly she'd kissed their first son's head, the tender adoration that had colored her sweet voice when she spoke Optimus's name for the first time.

"Angel," he hummed softly, kissing her gently, his warm hand lovingly caressing her cheekplate. "What in Primus's good name did I do to deserve you?"

"Don't be silly," she whispered, her arms entwining around his neck and holding his face close to hers. "You've had my spark from the moment we met." Her mouthplates brushed sweetly over his, one small finger reverently tracing the seam of his chestplates.

"You want to merge?" he asked quietly, catching her hand in his and lifting it to kiss her palm. She mumbled something incoherently, pulling him in again and brushing her lips against his.

He smiled, cradling his beloved in his arms, his chestplates parting soundlessly. "I shall take that as a yes…"

* * *

Baron stepped lightly from the shower unit, rubbing the soft towel over the many planes of his armor, enjoying the slight tingling of his protoform as the soap's foreign chemicals gently burned away the residual grime hiding in the nooks and crannies of his immense chassis.

"Sephy, you really must try their baths," he said happily. "I know you've just been wiping down with cleansers from home, but that was simply superb."

Sephirium moved to the next section of her holocube, but did not reply. Baron entered the room and stood behind the couch, placing his thick black hands on her dainty shoulders.

"What are you doing?" she inquired emotionlessly, not even lifting an optic.

"Touching you," he growled softly, leaning in to drop one hand to her abdomen, the other sliding down her smooth, round thigh. "And you can drop the pompous act."

"It's not an act," she said flatly, slapping his hands away. "Leave me be, Baron, I'm in no mood to entertain you."

The mech halted for a moment, considering, and then, without warning, abruptly vaulted himself over the back of the couch, knocked the holocube from her stunned hands, and threw her onto her back, pinning her beneath him.

"Baron!" she fairly shrieked, starting when he pinned her wrists above her head. "What are you doing?!"

"Dominating my mate," he growled, lowering his head to nip at her throat. "As males are wont to do. Why are you being so cold to me? Do you not love me? Did you not choose me from the thousands of mechs waiting on your every whim?"

"Get off of me! How  _dare_  you! I'm above you, I'm superior to you, I'm—"

He snarled and silenced her with a firm kiss, thrusting his glossa into her mouth and tasting her thoroughly before withdrawing, glaring down at her teary optics.

"No," he growled softly, golden optics narrowed dangerously. "You're  _not_  above me. You're  _not_  superior to me. We are  _sparkmates_. We are  _equals_. I do happen to love you, Sephirium. I put up with all of your ridiculous, self-righteous  _bull slag_  because you are my universe. But as much as I care for you, dearest, and as much as it would pain me to be away from you, if you continue to treat me like your slave, like an object that you just happen to possess because it is  _convenient_  for you, I will not hesitate to leave."

"You wouldn't," she said in a small voice, staring up at him, bewildered. "It would kill us both."

"I'd rather die than continue on in this sad excuse for a sparkbond," he said flatly, and she found herself abruptly released, his body moving off of hers. She lay still for a frozen moment, listening to his heavy footfalls as he stalked towards their bedroom. Sitting up slowly, she turned her head to see him hovering in the doorway, his back to her, head down and immense hands clenched into tight fists.

"Baron?" she squeaked out, lifting herself off the couch. "Baron, say something."

When he didn't comply, she stepped around the couch and approached him cautiously. He stiffened at the sound of her approach, but determinedly said nothing.

"Baron," she breathed, and her fingers reached out to tentatively touch his broad, strong back, the touch whispering along the scars etched deep into his protoform—scars given to him by previous owners, merciless femmes whom he could never quite satisfy. She wondered if those physical wounds or the wounds she herself had inflicted on his spark hurt more. "Bar—"

And then he was upon her, turned around and clutching her tightly to his form, face buried in the crook of her neck and shoulder, hands tightening around her delicate frame.

"Why?" he whispered, speaking directly into her audio. "Why would you bond with me if you had no intention of loving me?"

Her vision blurred, and she released a broken sob, shaking her head back and forth, denying, confirming—her spark was tearing itself in two at her mate's pain. Delicate arms wound around his waist, and her face dropped against his collar armor, bright tears streaming down her faceplates as she cried against him.

"There's my girl," he mumbled, falling to his knees and pulling her with him, cradling her in his arms. "There's my little femme. Shh, it's alright…it's alright…"

She couldn't speak, so she opted to continue crying, allowing him to hold her, comfort her, act like her sparkmate for once. His frustrations were understandable, reasonable—but it was just so _hard_. To show affection to her sparkmate would mean discrediting herself as Femmax's ruler, a position she would not— _could not_ —give up.

But she  _did_  love him. It wasn't something she could admit openly, not to her friends, her daughters…not even to him, for fear of what he might say. She'd always loved Baron, from the moment he'd been assigned as her bodyguard when she was just a princess herself. She'd denied the feeling, fought it down, suppressed it, but inevitably her spark had called out to his, and inevitably he'd called out to her as well.

There was no such thing as courtship on Femmax. She told her parents she desired the mech, and they'd given him to her, brought him bound and chained to her berth and given her the key. His hands had been locked behind his back, his legs linked by a long chain so running was out of the question; a thick brace had been secured around his helm to keep him from shouting or biting his captors or mistress. Sephirium was confused by how dispirited he'd been when he was brought to her room. She'd been expecting him to be elated—she was  _sure_  he'd been just as attracted to her as she'd been to him. To bed a Femmaxian princess was every slave's dream come true. But he'd been sulky and upset, glowering at the floor as she undid his bonds and ordered him onto her berth.

And then he surprised her…because he was the best lover she could have ever imagined. He dominated her completely in the berth, kissing and touching and taking her with vigor, with passion, eagerly, and she was satisfied, because he'd clearly realized what a privilege it was to be allowed to steal away her innocence.

Why, then, had he remained so angry? He tailed behind her with brooding optics, answered her questions with a dark, almost murderous tone, avoided her in their quarters. He was only enthusiastic in bed. She knew she shouldn't have cared—he was, after all, merely a portable container for the material she needed to produce her heir—but it  _bothered her._  She tried everything to make him behave—she hit him, she had him whipped, starved, contained, but his attitude towards her was relentlessly cold.

She'd tried a different approach after that. Growing up, her father had given her a technopuppy to play with. She remembered vividly that it had grown hostile when she hit it, so she'd instead given it treats when she wanted it to do something. It had grown amicable after that. Surely the same technique must be applicable to slaves.

She tested her theory while he was in the shower room, dutifully scrubbing his armor—his mistress wouldn't let him near if he bore a speck of dust. Hesitantly, wondering if she could lower herself to do it, if she would lose what little control over him she already had, Sephirium had gathered up a cloth and brush and washed his back.

The memories played back clearly in her mind—the way he'd frozen, surprised, the way he'd relaxed under her light touch, the way he'd turned and looked at her. He'd scooped her up against the front of his frame and pinned her to the wall and made love to her— _made love to her_  rather than just interfaced with her, and there was a fullness in his kisses that made her spark flutter and dance in its casing.

They'd bonded that night, entwined on her berth, as they were meant to when he was first given to her, and Sephirium had never forgotten the words he'd spoken to her as their sparks came together for the first time. "Make no mistake," he'd whispered, speaking softly against her lips. " _You_  are  _mine_. Not the other way around. You  _belong_ to me, sparkmate."

"I belong to you," she sobbed openly, and Baron jerked in surprise, staring down at his Queen. "I'm yours," she went on, turning her teary face upwards to look at him. "Oh, don't you understand, Baron? I'm yours!"

A smile spread over his faceplates, and he chuckled softly, pulling her in close and hugging her gently. "I know, milady, I know," he sighed. "You've been mine from the moment I set optics on you. But I could never ask you to sacrifice your throne for me, so while we're in public, we can  _pretend_  that you're the owner, yes?"

She laughed weakly, shuttering her optics, searching out their bond and grasping on to his stoic, strong spark. "Of course, of course…"

"But  _here_ ," he purred, nipping at her throat, "when we're  _alone_ , you are no queen, understand? You are my  _sparkmate_ , and I shall touch you as I please, love you as I please, hold you as I please. A fair give-and-take, wouldn't you say?"

"I would," she murmured, her sobs quieting as his strong hand rubbed her back. "Baron, I—I do love you, honestly I do. But you are only a mech, after all."

Something stabbed, hard and familiar and relentless, into his spark. Only a mech. A little less than a sentient, feeling being. Society had implanted that idea in her head, and he felt that it could be a long time before she ever truly saw him as an equal.

So, for the time being… "Of course, dearspark. So no more tears are to be shed for this unworthy mech, understand? You'll have stains on your lovely faceplate, milady."

"Yes, yes," she sighed busily, standing and wiping her optics. "Excuse me. I'll go shower. You prepare the berth…please."

"I shall do so," he responded warmly, getting to his feet. He leaned in, stealing a kiss from her supple lips before turning on his heel and marching into the berthroom.

Only a mech indeed.

* * *

While Optimus was entertaining his many, many guests, Elita took it upon herself to learn about this alien species known as "mechs."

It wasn't as if she'd never been in contact with a male—she spent plenty of time with her father, and her family had tons of servants to wait on her hand and foot, but she'd never really known one personally. There weren't many mechs on base in whom she had particular interest—they all fit the stereotype she'd come to know and resent so well back home. Loud, raucous, irritating, crude, lowly mechs. Optimus was the only one she'd met who'd come close to being even remotely civilized.

Optimus…the thought of the mech still got her spark racing, though it had been days since he'd knelt before her and kissed her hand. His optics had smoldered up at her, whispering of things she could not even begin to imagine—love and passion and lust and understanding. The thought of a relationship with a mech, of all beings, had not even crossed her processor when her parents had asked her to venture to Cybertron, but now she couldn't seem to chase away the wonderings about what it would be like to be  _his_.

Of course, she couldn't even get a moment to talk to the mech—the other Femmaxian guests were all clamoring to get a piece of him. Beta had returned to the dorm in tears last night, Arcee already loved the mech like a brother, Thunderblast had been smitten and then smited, and Moonracer was completely taken with him. Optimus was proving himself to be a very hot commodity.

Who was it that was with him today? Firestar? War-like and belligerent and crazy, that one. He'd taken her to…the arenas? The gladiatorial rings? Something of that nature? Elita had seen them leaving, and he'd seemed hesitant, nervous, unsure, while the fiery red femme swung on his arm and encouraged him onwards. She'd been raring to visit the rings since her arrival on the planet, and to go on the arm of Cybertron's esteemed, handsome young prince only made the trip all the sweeter.

Elita sighed, taking a seat outside in the palace's gardens, watching the mechs and femmes and couples strolling around, some alone, some in deep conversation with a partner or laughing and lounging with friends. She hadn't expected to feel so lonely. Normally she had Chromia, but her bodyguard was busy dragging poor Ironhide all over Iacon, making him wait on her hand and foot. She still hadn't given him her name, but he was working diligently for it. Elita almost let herself wish that Optimus would pursue their connection as vigorously as Ironhide did his and Chromia's.

Arcee appeared to have some mech to spend time with, though Elita hadn't seen the bot. She could just tell, just by looking at her sister's face and the happy bounce in her step—she was smitten with some young mech. But Elita hadn't seen any mechs Arcee's age anywhere near or within the palace…that worried her a bit. As long as Arcee didn't start removing her armor for anyone, Elita felt that she could trust her little sister's judgment.

"Elita? What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

Her head snapped up, thwacking solidly against the statue upon which she was leaning. " _Ouch_ …Optimus? That's a better question for you, milord. Where's Firestar?"

"Ah, the rings were closed. Apparently someone was, er, skewered in the last match, they had to clean up." Elita felt her faceplates grow hot when the prince sank to the ground beside her, sighing and looking up at the dark sky. Even in the middle of the day, the sky was dark—Elita had only barely caught a glimpse of the sun. "Are you enjoying your stay?"

"I suppose. I haven't left the palace much since…well. Since your outing with Thunderblast, I suppose. Mo—Lady Sephirium wasn't happy that I was wandering around by myself."

"I guess not. The marketplace is no place for a femme to be on her own," Optimus said, frowning, and suddenly found Elita on him like a sharkticon.

"Oh? And why's that? Because femmes aren't strong enough to defend themselves? Because we can't be trusted on our own? Because—"

"A lot of femmes have been attacked in that area," he cut in quickly. "Rapes, kidnappings, murders…they're just  _targeted_. Father can't seem to stop it. Femmes are simply less likely to be attacked if there's someone else with them."

"…Oh. I see. I apologize, then."

They lapsed into silence, Optimus staring at the sky, she at the ground. Frag. Here she'd been so desperate to sit and talk with him, and now that she had him…what was she supposed to say? She wanted to know more about the way her spark behaved around him, but it suddenly felt odd to ask him about it. What if he hadn't felt what she had? What if his kissing her hand had merely been a fluke—what if it was a courtesy he'd meant to extend to everyone and simply forgotten about until her name was called? But he hadn't kissed anyone after that…

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

"Pardon?" she inquired, turning her gaze up to look at him. He was still staring at the sky, but now she had the feeling that he was avoiding her optics.

"The morning we met. I'm sorry if I embarrassed or implicated you in front of the others. I hadn't meant to. I was acting impulsively." He glanced down at her, saw her staring at him, then looked up again quickly. "I apologize if I made you uncomfortable."

"…Oh. Oh, no, not at all. Really. I was…surprised, certainly, but I wasn't treated poorly because of it."

"I see. I'm glad." Hesitating, he glanced down at her. Her armor was touching his lightly—she felt a little warm. Flustered, perhaps, surprised by his sudden apology.

"Is there somewhere you'd like to go?" he asked kindly, tilting his head to survey her face a little better. "You must be getting restless, being cooped up in the palace all day. Firestar was so dejected that she opted to go back to the dorms, so I've the whole day to myself. I'd love to take you out if there was something you wanted to see."

"Nothing in particular," she said absently, tracing and idle pattern on the ground with a finger. "Like I said, I didn't come here for the experience, or even to get myself a mate. I came because my mother forced me."

"She must be a powerful femme, to want to establish connections so badly."

"Well, yes. She is…quite influential."

"…Then I've struck out, it would seem."

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking over at him, to find him shifting restlessly, stretching out onto his back and folding his arms behind his head.

"Ah, you didn't notice? That was a very, very roundabout way of asking you out," he chuckled, sighing and shuttering his optics. "Guess I'll just have to keep working at it. I'd been looking forward to spending time with you, but I was rejected pretty thoroughly, it would seem."

"…Huh? I wasn't…you should have just asked instead of being so obscure! Idiot mech!"

"Oh?" He sat up, smiling brightly at her. "Does that mean you'll go with me?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Does it matter? I just want to know you."

She stared at him, mesmerized for a moment by the incredible blue of his optics, and then she placed both hands on his broad chest, pushing him away. "Don't say that sort of thing with a straight face! Honestly! No wonder the others are falling over themselves to get at you!"

"What? They are?"

"Yes, of course they are," Elita snorted, irritated. "Moonracer won't shut up about you, and Beta is convinced you're her sparkmate already."

"Unbelievable," he said, shaking his head. "I hadn't expected that at all…"

"Well, you did go out of your way to make them all as happy as possible, did you not?" she inquired, arching an optic ridge at him.

"As is required of me. I have to find a bondmate out of your group," he sighed, frowning at the ground. "But, listen, Elita…if at all possible, try to discourage their notions of me. I do go out of my way to be especially kind and open, but it's not…me."

"Isn't it? You seem like a perfect prince to me."

"I'm not," he replied, his frustration bleeding through his voice. "I'm the future Prime. I have to act like something of a  _god_. I can't afford to be anything less than perfect. Which is why I need to find a sparkmate who will accept me exactly as I am, so I don't have to pretend. Does…does that make sense?"

Elita gazed at him for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. I understand. I mean, I'm not sure exactly what it means to be a Prime, what such a position entails, but I know it's important. A Prime is something of a king to the Cybertronian people, correct?"

"Yes, essentially. There's more to it than that, however. In addition to being the voice of the people, the Prime is also a military commander, a leading political figure, the executive decision maker for the entire planet. He must be nothing short of an immortal."

"…Hm. Sounds like a lot of pressure. I can understand why you'd be so desperateto have a mate you didn't have to be flawless around. Someone who would understand you…"

"Yes. But, ah," he rubbed his helm with one hand, suddenly awkward, "I'm sorry to drop that on you so abruptly. It was a little inappropriate…"

"I don't mind," she said quietly, glancing up at him from beneath the slender hood of her helm. He averted his optics quickly, not realizing that he'd been staring at her beautiful porcelain face. "I…feel like I can trust you, Optimus. To a certain degree."

"…Does that mean you'd like to go out?"

She threw her arms into the air, throwing herself down on her back. "Sure. Why not? You're absolutely incorrigible, do you know that?"

"I shall take that as a compliment."

"Don't."

"Where would you like to go?"

Elita sighed, rubbing her foreplate, trying to ignore the happy fluttering of her spark. "The Crystal Gardens. I've heard a lot about them. If it's not too much trouble…?"

"No trouble at all," he said brightly, jumping to his feet and offering her a hand. "Praxus is only a breem away by magnet train. We'll hop a transport to the station and be there in no time."

"Wonderful," she said faintly, cautiously placing her hand in his, her spark jumping at the physical contact when his warm fingers wrapped gently around hers. He pulled her up effortlessly, overestimating how much strength he'd need so that she almost bumped her nose into his chestplates. They both paused, overwhelmed by the thudding of their sparks, nearly nose to nose with her hand still clasped in his.

"Sorry," he mumbled absently, completely taken with the ethereal light of her optics. "I didn't…mean to…"

"It's fine," she breathed, taking a hesitant step back and gently pulling her hand from his. He found himself missing the warmth immediately.

They stood in silence for a moment, Optimus clenching and unclenching his fist and wondering if he should try to take her hand again—she wondering if she should reach out and let him. Things were moving much too quickly for her liking—she barely knew this mech, she didn't really know this mech  _at all_ , yet she wanted nothing more than to allow him to hold her hand.

"So," she said awkwardly, looking up at him cautiously. He returned her gaze openly, cocking his head and dimming his optics gently. "These Crystal Gardens…just how beautiful are they?"

* * *

It was beyond breathtaking.

They arrived as night was falling, as Cybertron turned its face away from its distant sun. Elita had been worried that there'd be little to see in the dark, but Optimus had just smiled knowingly and guided her from the transport. He neglected to mention that the crystals were naturally luminescent until they were on the threshold of the gardens, as the last light of the day died.

"Shutter your optics," he murmured suddenly, placing a hand on her shoulder and tugging her back gently.

"I beg your pardon?" she snorted, glancing up at him. He smiled, patting her consolingly.

"Please? Just for a moment."

"Why? Planning on kidnapping me?"

"Femme, don't argue with me," he growled playfully. "This will be more exciting if you're surprised."

With a snort, she placed her hands over her optics. He waved a hand in front of her face to ensure that she wasn't peaking, then placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her forward, through the great marble arch that marked the entrance to the Gardens and onto the little stone path.

"Alright," he murmured, "open."

Cautiously, she spread her fingers, peeking out, then dropped her hands completely, stunned. Optimus stood before her, hands clasped behind his back, smiling, bathed in ethereal emerald light from the winding crystal spires and columns behind him. The entire garden was aglow in radiant light, each crystal casting a soft field of green about it, the air shimmering and alive with energy.

"Well?" Optimus inquired, smiling at her astonishment. "What do you think?"

"It's amazing," she breathed, stepping forward and brushing her fingertips cautiously over the smooth surface of a nearby crystal. "It's incredible…I've never seen anything like it. They glow by themselves?"

"Yes…they contain a gas within their structure that reacts strongly in the dark. Beautiful, aren't they?"

"Oh, Optimus, they're  _gorgeous_." She turned to face him, radiant face beaming up at him in the crystalline glow. "Thank you."

He felt his spark jump against is casing, and he broke the optic contact quickly, not trusting his face to hide his emotions. "Ah, well…shall we walk, then? The inner rings are even more spectacular…"

He wasn't lying. The place was a maze of color, a world all its own. The further into the Gardens they traveled, the more complex and alien the crystals became. Flowery little blue ones sparkled at her feet, while white infernos towered overhead, home to the vine-like yellow colonies.

Optimus could only watch, amazed and endeared, as the strong, stoic wall the Femmaxian had placed between them began to crumble. From beneath her calm exterior shone an excitable, adventurous femme, full of life and energy, a real breath of fresh air for the prince. Her smiles became more frequent as the night progressed, her voice began to lift in laughter.

"It's amazing," she laughed breathlessly, finally taking a seat at the base of a fantastic pink pillar. "I didn't know things like this even existed."

"These crystals were brought here by some researchers who went to a foreign planet outside of our system," Optimus explained, taking a seat next to her and stretching his legs. "They somehow have the ability to multiply all on their own. We're still studying them. Obviously they're just minerals, but they seem to have minds of their own."

"Fascinating," she murmured, reaching out to touch a budding blue crystal by her foot. "They really do seem to be… _alive_ , somehow. Everything about this planet seems to be alive. It's all metal and alloys, but it's like it's…moving."

Optimus paused, hesitant, before saying slowly, "Some will argue that it really  _is_  alive."

Elita looked up at him, startled. "Really? How do they justify that?"

"…Our principal deity, Primus. Some say…" he halted, then continued cautiously, "some will say that Cybertron is Primus himself. Primus transformed, dormant, at rest. That the core of our planet is Primus's spark, from which all life on Cybertron stems and to which it must return."

"…Do you believe it?"

He was quiet for a moment, considering. "…I really do not know what to believe. I suspect that Primus's secrets will be revealed to me when I inherit the Matrix of Leadership."

"What is that?"

"An ancient artifact that dates back as far as we can imagine. It is said to contain a small portion of Primus's spark. It is given to the Prime so that he can serve as the link between Primus and his people."

"And you're to receive it when you become Prime? That's amazing, Optimus," she said wonderingly, shaking her head slowly. "To inherit the essence of a god…what an honor."

"…One could call it that," he intoned softly, his optics dimming. "But it's…it's a curse as much as it is a blessing."

"…A curse?"

"Whoever inherits the Matrix inherits all of the memories of its previous holders. All of their knowledge and recollections are stored within its depths. When I receive the Matrix, I will see the lives of my predecessors—their births, the conflicts they faced…their deaths. And…none of the previous Primes have died peacefully."

A tense silence wavered between them before Elita reached out, touching his arm lightly. He turned his head to gaze down at her, the worry in her optics nearly piercing his spark.

"How…how have they died?"

He sighed, placing his hand over hers, comforted by the warm touch. Much to his surprise, she did not pull away—on the contrary, she scooted in closer, leaning against him gently.

"Prima was the first Prime, as far as we can tell. He was slaughtered while fighting Unicron, for which purpose he was created. Primon, the second, was murdered by a radical assassin. Nova Prime left Cybertron to explore the furthest reaches of deep space, and never returned."

"That's horrible," Elita said, her optics wide. "Your father is the Prime…do you worry for him?"

"Yes…all the time. I shall do my best to protect him, but I have a foreboding in my spark…something awful will happen to him, I can feel it. Something that no one could have ever imagined."

Elita tightened her grip on his arm, and he smiled down at her, patting her hand gently.

"Don't fret, Elita. It's not something you need to worry about. My father is a strong, capable mech. He will not go down without a fight, of that I am certain."

She returned his smile, and his spark jumped when she laid her head against his shoulder, shuttering her optics lightly.

"I once heard your father speak of 'The Thirteen.' What is that?"

"Ah. Well, it is said that Primus created thirteen Cybertronians in order to help him war with the Chaosbringer, Unicron. We do not know all of their names—they have been lost to the ages—but we do know that they were led by Prima. Another was Vector Prime, the guardian of time and space; another was Nexus Prime, the guardian of energon. There is some talk of a being called the Liege Maximo, who supposedly left Cybertron to create an army superior to Prima's. And then, of course…there's…"

He trailed off suddenly, staring distantly at the ground, and Elita had to shake him to pull him from his stupor.

"Optimus? There's another?" she prompted gently.

"…Oh. Oh, yes there is. His true name is not known. All we know is that he betrayed The Thirteen and allied himself with Unicron. He is known simply as 'The Fallen.'"

"The Fallen," she repeated softly. For some reason, she felt a chill down her back, and her spark seemed to tremble in its casing. It was a foreboding designation. "Is he…is he alive today?"

"It is believed that the Fallen cannot truly be destroyed," Optimus said quietly, his optics narrowing. "That he integrated with Unicron himself and therefore immortalized himself across universes. But the fact that he is only the stuff of legend and speculation supports that he has at least been silenced, for now. And no one is sure of the whereabouts of the other Thirteen—it is said that Vector Prime wanders time and space, watching over us silently, and that Nexus Prime lives at the core of Cybertron and guards the vast energon stores there. But no one can be sure."

"What about your father? Do you think he knows?"

Optimus cocked his head, considering. "…It is possible. He is forbidden to speak to anyone of what the Matrix revealed to him. I shall know as well, when I become Prime. Until then, I cannot claim anything with certainty."

They fell into silence for a time, comfortable to sit together. He was very aware of her closeness—her slender body resting against his frame, her small hand held gently in his—and he found himself afraid to move, lest the connection between them be broken.

"Elita?" he asked softly after a time, turning his head to gaze down at her. She really was a beautiful femme. Delicate looking, small in stature, but there was a blazing sort of strength hiding behind her azure optics. "May I…see you again?"

She was silent for what felt like a portion of eternity, but then her arm laced with his, and she entwined their fingers. "I do believe I would like that, milord."

A wide smile spread over his face, and he leant his head gently against hers, shuttering his optics. Elita snuggled against him, smiling faintly when his fingers tightened marginally, as if he were afraid she was getting up to leave.

"Relax, you," she whispered, turning her face into his broad shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," he murmured, the brief tension leaving him. "I think I like you just where you are."

They drifted into recharge there, hand in hand, listening to the steady beat of one another's pumps and the racing excitement in their own sparks.

* * *


	5. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironhide gets a win, and Sephirium reveals her true colors.

   
  
"Do you have anyone waiting for you at home?"

Chromia cracked an optic open at the softly posed question, scowling at the immense black mech lying beside her on the berth. "No. Why?"

"Just wondering," Ironhide said dismissively, rolling onto his back and stretching his well-used joints, purring in sated satisfaction.

"There's always a good reason behind every 'just wondering,'" Chromia retorted smartly, slithering over the berth to pounce on top of him, holding her curvaceous body just above his. His thick interface rod was still exposed between his thighs, already hardening again at her seductive proximity.

"I'd hate for you to start feeling guilty while I'm buried inside you," he fairly purred, clasping her jaw in his warm hand and pulling her head down to nip softly at her lower lip.

"Interface is interface," she said flatly, tugging her mouth from his. "I'll capitalize on the opportunity regardless of whether I'm in a relationship."

"That's acceptable in your society?"

"It's not here?"

Ironhide shook his head deftly. "Not a bit. If a bot is in a relationship, they're faithful to that partner, through thick and thin."

"Odd," Chromia commented, cocking her head to the side, trailing her fingertips down the powerful lines of his jaw. He shuttered his optics at the light touch, shuddering internally when his spark eagerly encouraged the contact. "I was under the impression that you Cybertronians relished in physical pleasure."

"Aye, that we do," Ironhide conceded. "But relationships are important. Every bot you're attracted to is a potential sparkmate, and sparkmates are sacred, precious. If it becomes publicly known that a bot was unfaithful in a relationship, there's no chance of them finding a sparkmate."

"You don't say," Chromia murmured, stroking the tantalizing seam in the rugged mech's chestplates. "What about you, Ironhide? How many relationships have you dedicated yourself to?"

"I've never come close to forging a sparkbond, if that's what you're wondering," he responded with a smirk. "Personally, I enjoy the company of femmes far too much to settle down."

"I see," she replied, and there was a sudden coolness in her voice that worried him at once.

"What?" he asked, lifting himself onto his elbows and peering carefully into her sapphire optics. "Why are you irritated all of the sudden?"

Chromia stared at him, shocked—she was famous for being completely opaque, for sporting a perfect mask in all situations. No one but Elita had ever been able to read her emotions. Just who the frag  _was_  this mech?

"You still don't know my name," she said flatly, then threw herself off of him, swaying her hips suggestively as she sauntered over to his wash racks. Ironhide released an irritated growl, climbing off his berth to follow her with hulking, stomping steps.

"Whose fault is  _that_?" he demanded.

"Well, if you'd use your processor," she snorted, turning on her heel and smirking at him openly, "you'd think to just  _ask_  someone."

Ironhide stopped in his tracks, his jaw falling open as the realization hit him. Chromia smirked and blew him a kiss before stepping into his wash racks and turning on the solvent. Shaking himself, Ironhide trekked in after her, picking up a cloth on his way and lowering it to her dusky blue armor as he approached her.

"Mind terribly if I wash ya?" he grunted softly, leaning in to lightly brush his mouthplates over the back of her neck.

"No, please," she murmured, arching her back when his hands settled around her waist, pulling her into him until her lovely aft was flush with his bare spike. She purred at the erection grinding into her lower back, lolling her head to the side as his thick fingers rubbed the cloth against her back, right at the tense cables between her shoulders. His rough, knowing hands made quick sweeps over her tempting frame, swiftly dislodging debris from sensitive joints and cracks in her armor.

"How did ya get all these scars?" he asked quietly, running his thumb over a long line that crisscrossed from her chest down to her lower back. Like someone had cleaved her wide open. The mere thought of someone hurting the femme so badly sent an explosive anger coursing through his spark.

"Various skirmishes," she said offhandedly, allowing her shoulders to relax under his gentle massage. "You wouldn't believe how many mechs take it upon themselves to try and assassinate the royal family. It's my duty to prevent that."

Ironhide hummed in understanding—he bore scars as well, scars he'd earned protecting the Prime and the family Sentinel so loved. It was an intimate connection between guardian and charge that only a bodyguard could fully understand.

"What's your name?" he intoned, leaning in over her slender body and wrapping his arms around her waist, trapping her arms to her sides and holding her firmly against him.

"Why is it so damned important to you?" she wondered aloud, leaning back against his strong frame. "Why are you  _pushing_  this so fast?"

"Because my spark is reacting to ya," he growled, his tone turning predatory as he nipped at her neck cables.

"That's no reason to go after me like I'm prey."

"Didn't ya listen to a word I just said? A sparkmate is  _sacred_. I've never felt anything like this before."

Chromia fell quiet for a moment, shuttering her optics, focusing past his alluring hands, his strong body, to listen for the low bass call of his spark. The concept of "sparkmates" was a foreign one to her—one she didn't understand—something that was never discussed in Femmaxian society. The mech to whom a femme bonded was nothing more than a vessel for valuable genetic material to create daughters, the future of the planet. Mechs were ravenous beasts who just happened to have something that the femmes needed.

But she had seen Sentinel and Angelbane. She had seen the reverence in the Prime's optics as he gazed upon his mate, the love in her voice when she spoke to him, the way both of their optics brightened when they looked at one another. There was love there, a love that Chromia had never encountered there before, and something about it had struck a chord within her, filled with a longing for a connection she'd never had before.

"…Chromia."

"Huh?"

"My name is Chromia," she said quietly, tipping her head back to gaze up into his stunned, ruggedly handsome faceplate. He stared back down at her in surprise, blinking four times exactly before a smug grin broke over his face.

"Knew I'd get ya."

"Oh, shut up."

"I  _knew_  I'd get ya eventually," he laughed, lifting her into his arms and spinning her around, practically giddy with excitement. "Come on, dry off—I'll take ya out tonight. Anywhere ya want ta go."

"You don't even want me to take care of  _that_  first?" she snorted, pointing an accusing finger at his bulging erection.

"…Ah. Well, if ya'd be so kind," he said gruffly, grinning awkwardly. He'd been so elated at simply learning her name that he'd completely forgotten how aroused he was—Primus had a sick sense of humor.

"I think I've rewarded you enough for this evening," she said with a sly smile, sliding out of his tight grasp and sauntering over to the towels, flicking one off the rack and draping it over her shoulder so the tip just barely touched her aft. A seductive and enticing display of superior femininity—she couldn't help but be smugly proud of herself.

"Don't make an offer if ya don't plan on comin' through, femme," Ironhide growled, chasing after her and catching her arm in his gentle yet unyielding grasp.

"I'll do whatever I want, handsome," she purred lightly, giving the smallest of twists yet somehow managing to escape from his strong grip. "Now that I've got you, I have the feeling you won't be wanting me to let you go anytime soon."

Ironhide released a low growl, glaring after the femme as she walked back towards his berth. She nearly made it, too—her only deterrent was the immense black mech that abruptly crashed into her from behind, throwing her to the ground and pinning her beneath his weight.

"What the frag are you doing?" she fairly shrieked, thrashing against him, trying to get a knee up into his exposed interface.

"Punishing you," he murmured, lowering his head to lap gently at her throat. "I don't like to be ignored."

"Use your words, you barbarian!" she snarled, getting one arm free and banging her fist against his broad chest. "What kind of mech pins a femme to the ground?"

"The mech who's being so cruelly teased by his sparkmate," he purred, catching her mouthplates in a kiss until she jerked her face away.

"Don't act as if you've already got me," she hissed, optics narrowing dangerously. "I'm only here until the royal family leaves, remember."

"I plan to remedy that," he said lightly, happily petting the sleek body trapped beneath him. She inhaled sharply when his knowing fingers brushed up against a pleasure receptor in her upper chassis, and she had to fight to restrain the moan that built up within her. "I plan to make ya  _mine_ , femme. I'll see to it that ya fall in love with me."

"Good luck," she spat, fixing him with a murderous glare. "Better mechs than you have tried."

"Oh, no, that's where yer wrong," he snickered, ducking his head to press a light kiss to her foreplate. "Ya see, there's no mech better than me in the entire universe."

"I beg to differ," Chromia snarled, letting loose a huff when he climbed off her body. "What? Now you don't even have the ball bearings to finish what you've started?"

He glanced over his strong shoulder at her, arching an optic ridge in flat disbelief. "Ya want ta push me, femme?"

"I'm sure I can handle whatever you can bring," she said smugly, getting to her feet and crossing her arms over her curvy chest.

"Really." He smirked, settling on his recharge berth and patting the space between his legs. "Then come on, femme. Show me what ya got."

* * *

He stirred lightly, groaning softly and rubbing a hand against his noseplates, cracking an optic open to glance around at his surroundings. The previous night came back to him in a rush, and he sat up with a jolt, relaxing again when he saw the lovely femme recharging soundly beside him. Elita was curled up tightly, fingers still entwined with his. Optimus stretched out once more, gazing upon the femme's beautiful face.

"Elita," he murmured, reaching out cautiously to cradle her cheekpalte in his hand. "Elita, wake up. We stayed out all night, it's morning."

The femme murmured at him, swatting his hand away irritably and rolling onto her other side. Optimus couldn't help but laugh, pushing himself onto his hands and knees and leaning over her sleeping frame.

"Lita," he purred, dropping his mouthplates to her audio. "Time to go— _ouch!_ "

He fell back, cradling his smashed noseplates, optics watering with pain. Simultaneously Elita yelped and clutched the back of her helm, groaning.

"What happened?" she demanded, turning to face him.

"You sat up too fast," he said thickly, lowering his hands and grimacing at the smear of bright blue energon on his palm. "Primus, femme, you need to relax."

"I  _was_  relaxed, until you leaned over and molested my audio receptor," she snorted, settling on her knees in front of him and taking hold of his wrists with her small hands. "I'm sorry. Let me see."

"I might need reconstructive surgery," he said in mock seriousness, and she grinned up at him.

"Overdramatic." Leaning forward, she pressed her pert lips gently to his bruised noseplates. Optimus stilled, stiffening with shock, staring at her with slack-jawed surprise when she settled back, sitting on her rear and smiling sweetly up at him.

"I don't get it," he said weakly. Nevermind he'd just received his first kiss from a femme other than his mother, but the icy cold Femmaxian had just pulled a _complete_  one-eighty on him! "Yesterday…"

"Yesterday, you were just another mech," Elita said gently, patting his armored knee. "But you were wonderful last night. And we slept beside each other all night and you didn't try—" She broke off abruptly, and her optics widened. "…Oh  _no_. Oh frag, oh slag, oh…"

Scrambling to her feet, she leaned back to look up at the sky. "Where the frag is your sun?"

"It's too far off to see it before midday," Optimus replied, getting to his feet. "What's wrong?"

"What time is it?"

"Late morning, I suppose."

"We have to get back," she said desperately, turning to him, optics shining with earnest. " _I_ have to get back. Lady Sephirium, she'll—"

Optimus flinched, struck with understanding. "She'll be upset with you?"

"Not if we get back before she's up and about!"

"Alright, then, we have time." Optimus held his hand to her, fingers closing warmly around hers. There was anxiety in her optics, and to reassure her more than anything else, the young prince leaned in and gently kissed her cheek.

It was the first time, but it certainly wouldn't be the last.

* * *

To say that Sephirium was furious was the understatement of the eon. Her eldest daughter—the future empress of Femmax—had gone missing late the day before, had been absent for the evening banquet, absent for the morning meal, and showed up midday with the prince, her hand clasped in his, her faceplates flushed with shame.

Sephirium said nothing as the couple entered the grand hallway, offering the bashful prince a curt nod before seizing her daughter's upper arm and dragging her from the mech, up the stairs, to the quarters she was sharing with her sparkmate.

Baron looked up from his holocube when the door opened, a frown touching his mouthplates when his femme dragged their eldest daughter into the apartment. He shut the reading device down, getting to his feet. A sparkbond was not necessary to feel the Empress's fury; it came off her in waves, suffocating out her mate's usually calming presence.

"I know," she said quietly, her voice low and dangerous, rounding on her eldest, "I  _know_  that I taught you to conduct yourself properly. To not make yourself vulnerable—to close away your emotions—to not  _give yourself recklessly to anyone_. I spend your whole life teaching you this—teaching how to avoid temptation— _and this is how you choose to behave?_ "

"Mother—" Elita cut in, but her words were stopped by a sharp slap to the faceplate.

" _What happened?"_

"He took me to the Crystal Gardens," Elita uttered, trembling faintly, wishing, with all her might, that her father would step in for once—but Baron was utterly still, his hands handing emptily by his sides, helpless to stop his sparkmate's anger. "Nothing happened between us."

Another hit, but Elita bit her lip, staring determinedly at the floor, refusing to cry, refusing to show her mother that it hurt.

"Do  _not_  lie to me.  _Don't you dare lie to me!_ "

"He kissed me!" Elita said shakily, clenching her hands into fists. "Just once, on my cheek. That was it. We were just talking."

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Sephirium demanded, beautiful face twisted into a cruel snarl. "You stay out all night, you return with all the guilt in the universe written on those insolent faceplates—how am I to believe that you didn't give him your body like you were little more than a common whore?"

"Sephirium, that's enough," Baron broke in, his voice sharp. Sephirium rounded on him, optics burning, but he held his ground. "You know better than that," he continued, his voice dropping in volume with each word. "She's a respectable young lady. Right now you're angry that she defied your will, but do not jump to conclusions."

"Is it not suspect?" Sephirium hissed, optics narrowing dangerously. "And how dare  _you_  defy me so openly? Do not overstep your boundaries, Baron! I am her mother!"

"And I am her father," he countered, anger finally touching his voice.

"Mother, stop," Elita begged, strength returning to her. "He's done nothing wrong—"

Sephirium turned once more, raising a hand, determined to knock her daughter's stubborn defiance out of her—but was halted when Baron sprang forward, seizing his bonded's wrist and bringing her arm down forcefully.

"Do  _not_ ," he growled, optics burning now, "strike our sparkling again."

Elita inhaled sharply, but neither of her parents reacted, staring one another down. The tension in the room was palpable, heavy, suffocating. Trembling, Elita wrapped her arms around herself, anxious tears finally welling on the rims of her optics, wanting more than anything for this nightmare to dissipate, to put herself back inside Optimus's warm embrace, where none of  _this_  existed—

The silence was broken by a sharp rapping on the door. Baron deflated; Sephirium jerked from his grasp and retreated into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her with a snap. The black mech sighed heavily, pausing to gently kiss his daughter's helm before heading to answer their call. Elita sank to the floor, tears spilling uninhibited down her face, and she made no effort to stop them. She shuttered her optics, listening to Baron conversing with the visitor, the soft creak of a door as Arcee peered out of her room.

"Lita? Dearest?"

She lifted her head, wiping her faceplate as her father gently helped her to her feet.

"The prince is here to see you. Shall I have him come back later?"

"No, no, I'm fine," she said hurriedly. "Father—Papa, thank you."

"Of course, dearspark," he murmured warmly, folding his little femme into his arms. "I know it's hard. I  _know_  it's hard. But we have to be patient. She won't be changed all in one day—it's going to take time to change her views of this world."

Elita bobbed her head up and down, accepting her father's embrace a moment longer before parting gently and going to meet Optimus. The mech was hovering anxiously in the doorway, optics brightening considerably when he caught sight of her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, stepping forward and placing his hands on her upper arms, trying to soothe her obvious distress. "I heard shouting…"

"Yes…well, no…" She sighed, shaking her head. "I'm fine. Just fine. Don't worry, Optimus."

"This is my fault," he groaned, hanging his head, optics flickering in despair. "I should have been more responsible…"

"No, no, don't talk that way," she soothed, reaching up to touch his faceplate. "I had every opportunity to head back in a timely manner, and I chose to stay out with you. None of this is your fault, understand?"

"…Does she have the right to scold you like that?" Optimus asked at length, his blue optics darkening subtly. "I understand she is the grand Empress, the leader of your entire world, but does she have any right to be cruel to one who is not her own?"

"Not her own?" Elita repeated, smiling faintly. "Ruling out the possibility that I'm the princess, Optimus?"

"No—well, yes, a bit," he admitted, shrugging one shoulder. "Are you?"

"I'm not going to tell you a thing, milord," she said dryly, smirking up at him. "Figure it out on your own. I'm going to my quarters; I believe her Highness is finished with me for the time being. Care to escort me?"

"I was actually told to go visit Scavenger. Apparently I am to receive a thorough aft reaming for missing training last night," he sighed, rubbing the back of his helm uncomfortably.

"Can I come?" she inquired curiously, smiling lightly at his surprised expression.

"You want to…what? Watch?"

"Sure. I don't get to see mechs fight everday, you know. Besides, you'll get to show off for me," she added, winking.

"I can't argue with that," he agreed, shrugging one hefty shoulder. "Alright. I don't know how Scavenger will react, but I haven't got a problem with it. In fact, I'd be delighted," he went on, offering his arm to her. She accepted, placing her small hand on his forearm and blushing gently when he pulled her in a little closer.

If he noticed the subtle bruising on her cheekplate, he didn't say a word.

* * *

The evening banquet was, as expected, unusually tense. Baron and Sentinel maintained some idle chatter for a while before even they ran out of topics to discuss and fell silent. Elita found herself ignored by all of the Femmaxian delegates save for her sister and Chromia, and even the latter was a bit preoccupied with the gargantuan black mech she'd seduced so quickly. Optimus sat quietly beside his mother, focusing exclusively on his meal to avoid the dark glances he was receiving from Scavenger across the table (he hadn't been happy about Optimus bringing a  _femme_  to training). Megatron was sitting at his brother's free side, inhaling energon with abandon in the aftermath of his brief illness.

"Why's it so quiet?" the little mech asked of his brother after a time in low tones, baby blue optics turning upward inquiringly. "Hardly anyone is talking."

"Not sure," Optimus fibbed, shrugging one shoulder. He was willing to hide the truth if it meant his little brother was spared the pain of politics a little longer.

"Did you get in trouble for spending the night with Elita?"

"Um. Not really. She did, though."

"Oh." Megatron frowned, looking down at his platter. "That's sad. Hope she's okay."

Optimus glanced upward, optics wandering over Elita's slumped, silent form, her downcast optics and listless movements. "I hope so too," he murmured.

"She looks sad."

"Yes, she does. Easy on the mid-grade, Megatron, you'll upset your tanks again."

"I'll do what I want."

"Megatron, where did you learn to talk like that?" Angelbane growled, leaning forward to deliver her youngest a sharp glare. "I know your father and I never spoke that way to you."

"Jetfire said it."

Optimus groaned and dropped his face into his hand, mumbling inaudibly; Angelbane rolled her optics skywards as if in a silent plea for patience before patting her eldest son's shoulder.

"Optimus, I love Jet dearly, you know I do, but…"

"Tell him to weld his mouthplates shut?"

"Oh, well, only if you really love me. If you could just kindly ask him to watch his words around you-know-who…"

"I know who you-know-who is," Megatron piped up. "It's Papa."

"And how did you reach that conclusion?" Optimus snorted, patting his little brother's head.

"Mama says it all the time—'Better clean up before you-know-who comes home!' Like that."

"So many nameless entities running around our household," Optimus muttered, laughing when his mother jabbed an elbow into his side.

"Optimus."

His father's low voice at his audio startled him, and Optimus turned to blink up at the looming form of Sentinel Prime behind him. "F-Father? You surprised me…"

"I apologize. I need to talk to you for a moment," Sentinel explained quietly, tilting his head toward the corner of the hall. "Shall we?"

"Of course…" Optimus stood hastily, apologizing when he knocked Megatron's shoulder, following the tall golden mech to a safe distance from the grand table, and then on past the ring of statuesque guards to the furthest wall.

"Just to confirm, Optimus," Sentinel began softly, placing both hands on his son's shoulders, cobalt optics luminous, "I need to know if anything happened between you and Elita last night."

Optimus blinked twice, surprised by his father's abrupt inquiry. "That's what this is about? N-No, sir, I…nothing to compromise her integrity, nor mine, for that matter. I took her to the Crystal Gardens, you see, and we wound up talking late into the night and fell into recharge…and, this morning, I did…I kissed her, but it wasn't…it was only on the cheek, I swear…"

"I see," Sentinel murmured, straightening and rubbing the back of his helm. "Thank you. It's not that I doubted you, Optimus, but the Empress was obviously very upset…I'm sorry for pulling you away so abruptly, but seeing her just made me feel so anxious…"

"I understand," Optimus said quickly. "I mean, of course you'd feel that way. But I'd never do anything to disgrace our family, Father, I promise—"

"I know that, my son," Sentinel interrupted, smiling and placing a hand on his firstborn's head. "I've always known that. You're a strong, honorable mech, and you behave as such. I've never doubted that your integrity."

Optimus bowed his head, absorbing his father's words, suddenly feeling so young and so very vulnerable that he felt the overwhelming urge to cry. Primus, where had the vorns gone? He was on the cusp of adulthood and choosing his  _sparkmate_ , for Pit's sake—it was cruel, because he could still remember his days as a sparkling, where his biggest worry was how long his mother would rock him before bed.

"Come on now, buck up," Sentinel murmured, clapping a hand on his son's shoulder. "I didn't mean to upset you, Optimus. Come, let's finish our meal."

"Father," Optimus said quickly, lifting his head. "How did you know Mother was your sparkmate?"

"Now isn't really—"

"I know, just…please?"

Sentinel paused, glanced at his sparkmate over his shoulder, then turned back to the produce of their love, their beloved Optimus. "What can I say?" Sentinel chuckled, shaking his head. "I just knew."

Smiling gently, he beckoned toward the table with one hand before rejoining the banquet, attempting to engage the Femmaxian Empress in conversation once more. Optimus hovered for a moment, pondering his father's cryptic answer. He just knew?

Optimus looked to the table, and was surprised to see Elita watching him. She smiled a little and lowered her optics, but a moment later was glancing up again, a little embarrassed when their optics met again.

He just knew.

* * *


End file.
